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Townsend 
Rio  Grande 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


RIO  GRANDE 

Price,  25  Cents 


A ALTER  H.  BAKER  COMPANY 

BOSTON 


THE  PLAYS  OF  HENRIK  IBSEN 

A  Doll's  House.— Play  in  Three  Acts.     Translated  by  W.  Archer. 

3  males,  4  females,  and  3  children.     Scene,  an  interior.     Free  for  ama 
teur  performance.     Plays  a  full  evening.     Price,  35  cents. 

An  Enemy  of  Society.— Play   in   Five   Acts.      Translated  by  W. 

Archer.     9  males,  2  females.     Scenes,  all  interiors.     Free  for  amateur 

performance.     Plays  a  full  evening.     Price,  jj  tents, 
Ghosts. — Drama  in  Three  Acts.     Translated  by  W.  Archer.     3  males, 

2  females.     Scene,  an  interior.     Free  for  amateur  performance.     Plays 

a  full  evening.     Price,  35  cents. 

Hedda  Gabler. — Drama  in  Four  Acts.  Translatefsby  E.  Gosse.  3 
males,  4  females.  Scene,  an  interior.  Free  of  royalty.  Pkys  a  full 
evening.  Price,  3$  cents. 

Thz  Lady  from  the  Sea. — Drama  in  Five  Acts.  Translated  by  C. 
Bell.  5  males,  3  females.  Scenery,  varied.  Free  for  amateur  perform 
ance.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Price,  35  cents. 

The  Master  Builder.— Play  in  Three  Acts.  Translated  by  E.  Gosse 
and  W.  Archer.  4  males,  3  females.  Scenery,  varied.  Plays  a  full 
evening.  Free  for  performance.  Price,  35  cents. 

Peer  Gynt. — Play  in  Five  Acts  in  Verse.  31  male,  15  female  char 
acters.  Scenery,  three  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Arranged  for 
the  stage  by  the  late  Richard  Mansfield.  Price,  33  cents. 

The  Pillars  of  Society.— Play  in  Four  Acts.  Translated  by  W. 
Archer.  10  males,  9  females.  Scene,  an  interior.  Plays  a  full  even 
ing.  Free  for  amateur  performance.  Price,  35  cents. 

Rosmersholm*— Drama  in  Four  Acts.     Translated  by  M.  Carmichael- 

4  males,  2  females.     Scenery,  varied.     Acts  a  full  evening.     Free  for 
performance  by  amateurs.     Price,  35  cents. 

The  Wild  Ducfc.— Drama  in  Five  Acts.  Translated  by  E.  M.  Avel- 
ing.  12  males,  3  females.  Scenes,  all  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening. 
Free  for  performance.  Price,  jj  cents. 

The  Young  Men's  League.— Play  in  Five  Acts.  Translated  by 
11.  Carstarphen.  12  males,  6  females.  Scenery,  varied.  Perform 
ance  free.  Price,  JJ  cents. 

THE  PLAYS  OF  OSCAR  WILDE 

An  Ideal  Husband. — Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  9  males,  6  females. 
Scenery,  three  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening.  The  acting  rights  are 
claimed  by  Charles  Frohman.  Price,  bo  cents. 

The  Importance  of  Being  Earnest.— Farce   in  Three  Acts.     5 

males,  4  females.     Scenes,  two  interiors  and  an  exterior.     Plays  a  full 
evening.     Acting  rights  claimed  by  Charles  Frohman.    Price,  bo  cents. 

Lady  Whldermere's  Fan.— Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  7  males,  9  fe 
males.  Scenery,  three  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Acting  rights 
claimed  by  Charles  Frohman.  Price,  to  cents. 

A  Woman  of  No  Importance.— Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  8  males,  7 
females.  Scenery,  three  interiors  and  an  exterior.  Plays  a  full  even 
ing.  Charles  Frohman  controls  the  stage  rights.  Price,  60  cents. 

Costumes  modem  in  all  cases. 
BAKER,  Hamilton  Place,  Boston,  Mass. 


RIO     GRANDE 


BY 


CHARLES   TOWNSEND 

AUTHOR   OF   "SPY   OF    GETTYSBURG"     "  UNCLE  JOSH  "    "THE   WOVEN    WEB  "  "  BOIi 
DER    LAND"    "EARLY    VOWS  "    "DECEPTION"    "  ON   GUARD"    "MISS 

MADCAP"  "BROKEN  FETTERS"  "  SHAUN  AROON  "  "THE 
FAMILY  DOCTOR  "  "  A  BREEZY  CALL  "  ETC. 


AUTHOR'S  EDITION 


BOSTON 


CHARACTERS. 

JOSE  SEGURA,  a  wealthy  Spanish-America*. 

COL.  LAWTON,  commanding  the  garrison. 

CAPT.  PAUL  WYBERT,  a  junior  officer. 

JUDGE  BIGGS,  an  enthusiastic  citizen. 

LIEUT.  CADWALLADER,  an  "  American  aristocrat,"  and  a  holiday  soldier, 

JOHNNIE  BANGS,  a  dime-novel  desperado. 

CORPORAL  CASEY,  an  old  "  vet." 

RETTA,  Segura's  niece,  in  love  with  Paul. 

SOPHIA,  Lawton's  daughter,  betrothed  to  Paul. 

MAMIE,  Johnnie's  sister,  a  belle  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

MRS.  BIGGS,  the  Judge 's  guiding  star. 

TIME.  — June,  1884. 
PLACE.  — Fort  Lanark,  N.M. 
Time  of  Representation,  two  hours  and  twenty  minutes. 


COPYRIGHT,  1891,  BY  C.  F.  TOWNSEND. 


AU  Rights  Reserved. 

NOTICE.  —  The  author  and  proprietor  of  "  Rio  Grande  "  reserves  to  himself  all  right 
of  performing  the  play  in  any  part  of  the  United  States.  This  publication  is  for  the 
benefit  of  such  managers  or  actors  as  may  have  been  duly  authorized  by  the  author  or  hi» 
agents  to  produce  the  drama.  All  other  persons  are  hereby  notified  that  any  production 
of  this  play  without  due  authority  will  be  prosecuted  by  injunction  for  damages  and  other 
wise,  to  the  full  extent  of  the  law. 

To  AMATEURS.  — The  above  notice  does  not  apply  to  amateur  dramatic  clubs,  which 
may  perform  the  drama  without  permission. 


COSTUMES. 

SEGURA.  —  Acts  I.  and  II.  —  White  flannel  suit ;  wide-brim  Mexican  hat  with 
gold  cord  ;  diamond  ring  and  stud ;  long  black  mustache.  Act  III.  —  Uniform  of 
Mexican  general;  blue  coat,  faced  with  red;  gilt  buttons;  epaulets;  dark  blue 
trousers,  slashed  from  knee  to  hem  (outside  seam),  ornamented  with  rows  of 
small  gilt  buttons  ;  Mexican  hat ;  sword-belt  and  sword  ;  gloves  ;  spurs. 

LAWTON.  —  Act  I.  —  Full-dress  uniform,  colonel  U.  S.  A.  Acts  II.  and  III.  — 
Fatigue  dress ;  short,  full  beard,  short  hair,  slightly  gray. 

WYBERT. —  Act  I.  —  Full-dress  uniform,  captain  U.  S.  A.  Acts  II.  and  III. 
—  Fatigue  dress,  with  sword-belt  and  sword  ;  light  mustache. 

BIGGS.  —  Acts  I.  and  II.  —  Rusty  black  suit ;  soft  hat ;  gray  hair,  partly  bald; 
short,  gray  side  whiskers.  Act  III.  —  Same  costume,  only  soiled  and  torn. 

CADWALI.ADER.  —  Act  II.  —  Very  "  loud "  imitation  English  travelling  cos 
tume  ;  plaid  trousers  ;  leggings  ;  short  coat ;  low-crown,  double-visor  cap ;  field-glass 
in  case,  slung  over  shoulder  ;  walking-stick  ;  single  eyeglass  ;  tiny  pistol,  cigarettes 
and  matches  in  pocket.  Act  III.  —  Same  as  previous  act,  minus  cap  and  all 
accessories  ;  clothing  torn  ;  eye  blackened.  Second  dress,  ordinary  walking  suit. 

BANGS.  —  Acts II.  and  III.  —  Exaggerated  "cowboy"  costume;  rifle,  knives, 
revolver. 

CASEY. — Acts  I.  and  II.  —  Uniform  U.  S.  A.  Chevrons  of  corporal  on 
sleeves. 

RETTA.  —  Act  I. —  Rich  and  elegant  Spanish  costume;  short,  quilted  satin 
skirt ;  short  jacket,  trimmed  with  seguins ;  high,  laced  riding-boots ;  white  mantilla ; 
profusion  of  ornaments  ;  dagger.  Act  II.  — Similar  dress,  but  of  brighter  colors. 
Act  III.  —  Same  as  first  act,  with  mantilla  of  black  lace. 

SOPHIA. — Act  I. —  Neat  travelling  costume.  Act  II.  —  House  dress,  appro 
priate  for  summer.  Act  III.  —  Light  wrapper. 

MAMIE.  —  Act  I.  —  Rather  "loud"  tailor-made  travelling  dress.  Acts  II. 
and  III.  —  House  dress,  slightly  outre. 

M  RS.  BIGGS.  —  Acts  I.  II.  and  III  —  Quiet  house  dress. 


PROPERTIES. 

(See  also  "  Costumes  "  and  "  Scene  Plot") 

ACT  I. —  Bugles  and  drums  to  sound  off  L.  ;  swords  for  LAWTON  and  PAUL; 
dagger  for  RETTA  ;  stiletto  for  SEGURA. 

ACT  II. —  Eyeglass,  cigarettes,  and  matches,  Walking-stick,  tiny  pistol,  and 
field-glass  in  case  with  shoulder-strap,  for  CADWALLAUER  ;  rifle,  knives,  and 
pistols  for  JOHNNIE;  cigar,  matches,  and  folded  paper  for  SEGURA;  swords  for 
LAWTON  and  PAUL  ;  bugles  to  sound  and  band  to  play  off  L. 

ACT  111.  —  Watch  for  MAMIE  ;  rifle,  etc.,  for  JOHNNIE  ;  band  to  play  off  L.  u.  E. ; 
swords  for  SEGURA,  PAUL, and  LAWTON  ;  folded  paper  for  SEGURA;  liquor  flask 
and  glass  on  table. 

3 


1530351 


STAGE    SETTINGS. 
ACT  I. 


Do/ or. 


Lan 
\     Low     / 

iscape  Bac 
Porch. 
Door. 

ting. 
\     Low      / 

/           /  WindowA 
Chair. 

/  WindowA            \ 
Chair. 

Table. 


Chair, 


air.V-XChair. 


Easy 

o 

Chair. 


Do\or 


ACT   II.     (See  note  below.) 


Wing  of  House. 
Porch. 


Landscape 


n 

/  /Rustic 
/  /  Seat. 

*"v 


SCENE   PLOT. 

ACT  I.  —  Sitting-room  in  LAWTON'S  house  in  third  grooves,  with  landscape 
and  mountain  backing  in  fifth  grooves.  Broad,  low  windows  with  draped  curtains 
R.  and  L.  in  flat.  Door  c.  in  flat,  opening  on  porch,  also  R.  U.  E.  and  L.  U.  E. 
Closed  in.  Ceiling.  Piano  L.  Easy-chair  L.  c.  Chairs  near  windows  and  beside 
table  up  R.  Pictures  on  walls.  Carpet  and  rugs. 

ACT  II.  —  Lawn  in  fifth  grooves.  Landscape  on  flat  shows  distant  mountains. 
Bright  sunlight  effects.  Sky  border  and  sinks.  House  with  practicable  porch 
extends  from  R.  u.  E.,  one-third  across  stage.  Balance  of  R.  is  a  vine-covered 
lattice,  with  arches  R.  u.  E.  and  R.  i  E.  All  L.  wings  are  trees.  Rustic  seats 
R.  and  L. 

ACT  III.  —  Same  as  first  act,  except  that  curtains  are  drawn,  and  a  lighted 
lamp  is  on  table.  Lights  partly  down.  Landscape  at  first  shows  faint  moonlight 
effects,  which  changes  to  early  sunlight  when  curtains  are  draped  back. 

NOTE.  —  On  a  small  stage,  or  where  the  scenery  is  limited,  the  second  act  may  be 
played  without  change  of  scenery. 


REMARKS   ON   THE   PLAY. 

This  is  a  play  of  Western  army  life,  but  the  army  is  only  sug 
gested.  There  are  no  battle  scenes,  Indians,  horses,  cowboys,  nor 
red  fire.  The  play  is  .ntirely  domestic  in  treatment ;  and  the 
exciting  events  which  follow  in  rapid  succession  are  rational  effects 
from  self-evident  causes.  The  characters  are  well  diversified,  the 
action  is  brisk,  and  the  interest  is  sustained  until  the  last  moment. 
In  considering  the  relation  of  the  characters  to  each  other  and  to 
the  story,  the  following  suggestions  by  the  author  will  be  of 
interest. 

SEGURA  is  a  peculiar  character,  and  should  be  studied  with  the 
utmost  care.  He  is  a  man  of  wealth,  education,  and  refined  taste. 
He  speaks  pure  English,  with  but  the  faintest  possible  accent. 
His  bearing  is  easy,  graceful,  self-confident,  and  he  appears  to  be  a 
gentleman  at  all  times,  excepting  when  aroused  by  passion.  And 
even  then  he  should  quickly  recover  his  customary  suave,  polite 
manner.  Avoid  all  melodramatic  business,  especially  any  glaring, 
stamping,  hissing,  or  other  stilted  work.  The  cynical  speeches 
should  be  given  quietly,  and  with  no  appearance  of  studied  effort. 
His  age  is  about  thirty-five,  and  the  make-up  is  that  of  a  Spaniard, 
—  a  trifle  darker  than  usual,  —  with  black  hair,  eyebrows  and  mus 
tache.  He  speaks  with  quick,  nervous  energy,  and  his  movements 
are  energetic  and  forcible. 

LAWTON  is  a  man  of  fifty  or  thereabouts.  He  is  quick  and  rather 
dogmatic  in  speech,  usually  exhibiting  the  bluff,  positive  manner  of 
the  successful  military  man.  His  face  should  be  bronzed  from 
exposure,  and  his  hair  and  beard  should  be  slightly  gray. 

WYBERT  is  the  orthodox  young  lover.  He  is  a  high-spirited, 
quick-tempered  man  of  twenty-five  or  thirty,  and  should  be  com 
paratively  free  from  self-restraint  in  order  to  show  up  well  in  his 
interviews  with  SOPHIA  and  SEGURA.  He  wears  a  mustache  and 
his  face  is  slightly  bronzed. 

BIGGS  is  a  man  of  fifty-five,  stout,  florid,  partly  bald,  with  short, 
gray  side  whiskers.  His  style  is  brisk,  pompous,  and  grandilo 
quent.  This  is  a  comedy  character  throughout,  and  may  be  given 
considerable  latitude.  Deliver  his  long  speeches  rapidly,  as  the 
part  will  bear  no  dragging. 

CADWALLADEK  must  never  be  over-acted.  The  tendency  indeed 
should  be  in  the  opposite  direction,  for  to  caricature  this  part  is  to 
ruin  it.  Immobility  of  countenance  must  be  retained  at  all  times, 
and  the  soft,  effeminate  style  should  be  preserved  until  after  his 
interview  with  MAMIE  in  the  third  act.  His  gestures  should  be 
few  and  stilted  ;  and  particular  care  should  be  taken  to  avoid  over 
doing  the  drawl  in  his  speech.  His  age  is  about  twenty-one. 

BANGS.  This  character  is  simply  that  of  a  "  fresh "  young 
American,  about  seventeen  years  of  age.  Avoid  overacting,  espe 

5 


O  REMARKS    ON    THE    PLAY. 

dally  when  assuming  the  "tough."  His  speech  should  be  rapid, 
his  movements  brisk  and  snappy. 

CASEY  is  a  typical  stage  Irishman,  having  nothing  to  particularly 
distinguish  him  from  others  of  his  class,  except  that,  being  a 
soldier,  he  must  at  all  times  assume  an  erect,  military  bearing. 

RETTA  is  a  difficult  character  to  assume,  and  requires  the  most 
thorough  and  careful  study  to  portray  it  with  proper  effect.  She  is 
called  upon  to  represent  such  varying  passions,  —  love,  hate,  joy, 
grief,  anger,  sorrow,  jealousy,  remorse,  hope,  fear,  and  the  like,  — 
that  none  but  a  careful,  earnest  actress  should  attempt  the  role. 
Petulance  should  be  strictly  avoided,  together  with  all  forced  or 
unnatural  emotion.  It  is  very  easy  to  overact  a  character  of  this 
sort ;  and  when  that  is  done,  the  effect  is  grotesque.  Quiet  intensity 
is  the  most  effective,  and  at  no  time  should  there  be  an  attempt  at 
high  tragedy.  The  gestures  should  be  few,  and  the  voice  should 
be  pitched  rather  low  than  high.  RETTA'S  age  is  about  sixteen,  and 
her  make-up  should  be  that  of  an  ideal  Spanish  girl,  —  a  Castilian, 
dark,  with  black  hair  and  eyebrows.  The  lady  who  assumes  this 
part  must  needs  look  the  character  as  well  as  act  it. 

SOPHIA  should  be  played  with  much  life,  animation,  and  con 
siderable  freedom  from  restraint.  Although  the  character  is  much 
lighter  than  RETTA'S,  yet  there  should  be  a  certain  amount  of 
dignified  restraint  underlying  even  her  lightest  moods,  as  she  has 
considerable  serious  business,  especially  in  her  interviews  with 
PAUL  and  SEGURA.  Her  age  is  nineteen  years. 

MAMIE  is  an  ingenue,  and  therefore  it  is  particularly  necessary 
that  she  assume  an  air  of  unconscious  innocence  when  delivering 
her  somewhat  "  rapid  "  speeches.  The  least  exhibition  of  self-con 
sciousness  destroys  the  illusion,  and  the  character  wearies  instead 
of  amusing.  To  be  really  effective,  her  words  and  actions  must 
appear  unstudied  and  free  from  all  restraint.  Age,  about  nineteen. 

MRS.  BIGGS  is  the  characteristic  "old  woman."  In  this  play  she 
should  be  fat,  fair,  and  —  fifty.  Her  scene  with  MAMIE  at  the 
close  of  the  second  act  is  very  effective,  if  well  done,  and  very,  -very 
flat,  if  it  is  allowed  to  drag.  Indeed,  this  character  requires  much 
vivacity  in  every  scene,  a  fact  which  should  be  constantly  borne  in 
mind. 

Particular  attention  must  be  given  the  music,  which  is  an 
important  factor,  especially  at  the  close  of  the  second  act.  In  the 
heavier  scenes  allow  plenty  of  time  for  the  necessary  business,  but 
keep  the  action  brisk  in  the  comic  passages.  The  success  of  this 
play  depends  to  a  great  extent  upon  the  elaboration  of  the  by-play 
and  business  ;  therefore,  especial  care  should  be  observed  in  cast 
ing  the  characters,  and  the  play  should  never  be  presented  without 
the  most  thorough  and  careful  rehearsal. 

SPECIAL  NOTE.  —  The  uniforms  for  LAWTON  and  WYBERT  may  be  procured 
in  any  town  having  a  military  company  or  Grand  Army  Post.  Elsewhere  blut 
flannel  suits  will  answer  every  purpose. 


RIO  GRANDE. 


ACT   I. 

SCENE.  —  Sitting-room  at  LAWTON'S,  in  "$d  grooves.  Door  c.  in 
flat  opening  on  practicable  porch.  Doors,  R.  u.  E.  and  L.  u.  E. 
Stage  set  as  per  "  Scene  Plot"  Discover  BIGGS  asleep  in  easy- 
chair ;  L.  c.  Bugles  and  drums  sound  of  L.  u.  E. 

BIGGS  (sleepily*).  Achoo  !  a-a-achoo  !  achoo  !  Shut  the  door ! 
Confound  you!  shut  —  the  —  door!  Why  the  devil  —  (  Yawns.) 
Bless  my  soul,  if  I  haven't  been  a — (yawns)  sleep.  Hanged  if 
I  couldn't  sleep  thirty-six  hours  a  day  without  half  trying.  It's  the 
a  —  (yawns)  climate.  That's  what  it  is,  the  climate.  \Yawns.) 

(Enter  MRS.  BIGGS,  R.  u.  E.,  to  c.) 

MRS.  BIGGS.  It's  laziness,  Mr.  Biggs  ;  that's  what  it  is — lazi 
ness  ! 

BIGGS.     Mrs.  Biggs  ! 

MRS.  B.     Mr.  Biggs! 

BIGGS.  Do  you  mean  to  stand  there,  as  it  were,  Mrs.  Biggs, 
under  the  high-arched  dome  of  the  Empyrean  heavens,  and  assert 
that  I  —  I  — Judge  Jeremiah  Biggs,  am  slothfully  sluggish  ? 

MRS.  B.  Just  so,  Jerry.  You  know  you  are  the  laziest  man  on 
the  Rio  Grande. 

BIGGS.  Draw  a  line  at  th  ••  greasers,  Mrs.  Biggs  ;  draw  a  line 
at  the  greasers,  if  you  have  any  respect  for  my  feelings. 

MRS.  B.     Well,  what  are  you  loafing  about  here  for  ? 

BIGGS.  Loafing,  Mrs.  Biggs?  loafing?  Understand  me:  I  am 
here  on  business —  particularly  importantly  pressing  business. 

MRS.  B.  Business  !  You  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  O  Jerry  !  (Goes  L. 
laughing.) 

BIGGS.  Mrs.  Biggs  (she  laughs),  Mrs.  Biggs  —  I  —  you  (she 
laughs)  Mrs.  fiiggs  —  burr-r-r-r  !  (Another  laugh.)  Well,  then, 
damn  it,  laugh  —  damn  it,  laugh  !  (Crosses  R.) 

MRS.  B.  There  now,  Jerry ;  don't  lose  your  temper,  Jerry. 
You  would  be  in  an  awful  pickle  without  it. 

BIGGS.  Mrs.  Biggs,  your  hilarity  is  inconsequential,  paradoxi 
cal,  condemnationable,  and  I'll  be  everlastingly  — 

7 


8  RIO    GRANDE. 

MRS.  B.     Jeremiah  Biggs  ! 

BIGGS.  As  it  were.  Ahem.  To  resume  :  The  colonel,  as  you 
know,  expects  his  daughter  and  several  friends  from  the  effete  and 
decaying  East  to  visit  our  untrammelled,  free,  and  boundless  West. 
They  will  arrive  to-day.  And  I,  as  a  representative  citizen  of  this 
great  and  glorious  country,  consider  it  my  paramount  duty  to 
receive  them  with  hospitable  arms,  and  show  them  the  inconceiva 
ble  wonders  which  await  them. 

MRS.  B.     And  get  laughed  at  for  your  pains. 

BIGGS.  Laugh  at  me  —  at  me  —  me,  Judge  Biggs!  You  don't 
know  what  you're  talking  about.  I'd  fine  'em  for  contempt  of 
court.  Laugh  at  me  !  (Crosses  L.) 

MRS.  B.  At  all  events,  Miss  Lawton  will  require  none  of  your 
overpowering  information. 

BIGGS.  No,  bless  her  heart!  and  if  she  did,  I'd  deputize  Capt. 
Wybert. 

MRS.  B.     They're  engaged,  you  know. 

BIGGS.  No,  I  did  not  know,  you  know.  By  some  occult  demon 
stration  a  woman  can  locate  an  engagement  anywhere  between 
New  York  and  San  Francisco.  Engaged,  eh  ?  And  what  will 
Senor  Segura  do  when  he  hears  of  it  ? 

MRS.  B.  Who  cares  what  he  does  ?  He's  nothing  but  a 
Mexican. 

BIGGS.  You're  mistaken,  my  dear.  Seilor  Segura  is  a  Spanish- 
American,  rich  as  mud,  and  proud  as  Lucifer.  Still,  I  hope  that 
your  information  regarding  Capt.  Wybert  and  Miss  Sophia  is 
correct.  And  I  shall  be  most  delightfully  happy  if,  in  my  official 
capacity  as  magistrate,  I  am  called  upon  to  unite  them  in  the 
beauteous  bonds  of  holy  matrimony.  Here  upon  the  classic  banks 
of  the  far-famed  Rio  Grande  ;  in  this  lovely  land  o'erflowing  with 
milk  and  honey  ;  with  its  gold,  silver,  copper,  lead,  iron,  salt,  Indians, 
greasers,  and  other  rare  and  rank  commodities  (exit  MRS.  BIGGS, 
disgusted,  R.  u.  E.)  too  somewhat  numerous  to  mention  ;  where 
the  glowing  golden  sunlight  falls  across  the  opalescent-tinted 
mountains,  those  watchful  sentinels  of  our  limitless  empire  which 
throw  their  mystic  shadows  athwart  the  bounding  river  (enter 
CASEY,  c.  D.),  where  men  may  come,  and  men  may  go,  but  I  go  on 
forever. 

CASEY.  Then  why  the  divil  don't  ye  ?  By  the  piper  that  played 
before  Moses,  I  belave  ye  air  capable  av  it. 

BlGGS.     Ah,  corporal,  I  can't  go  on.     I  am  — 

CAS.     Stuck  ?     Ye  don't  mane  it ! 

BIGGS.  With  this  glowing  picture  before  me,  words  fail  to 
express  my  emotion. 

CAS.  Shure  that's  jist  what  I  thought  'tother  day  whin  I  kim 
down  hard  upon  the  business  ind  av  a  scorpion. 

BIGGS.     You  should  never  mind  those  trifling  things. 

CAS.  Trifling?  Shure  it  made  me  a  lump  as  big  as  me  two 
fists. 


RIO    GRANDE.  9 

BIGGS.  Your  soul  should  be  above  the  mere  discomfort  of  a 
lump. 

CAS.     Aha,  but  the  lump  was  not  on  me  sowl  at  all,  at  all ! 

BIGGS.  Good-by,  corporal.  I  am  going  over  to  the  railroad 
station  where  I  shall  await,  with  judicial  calmness,  the  momentarily 
expected  arrival  of  Miss  Lawton  and  her  most  distinguished 
friends  from  the  East.  Therefore,  adios  (at  c.  D.).  In  the  language 
of  the  poet,  I  must  get  me  hence  away.  (Exit  C.  D.) 

CAS.  Now  what  the  divil  does  he  mane  by  gittin'  his  hins 
away?  Faith  he  kapes  no  hins  at  all  excipt  a  few  geese  an' 
turkeys.  He's  a  quare  ould  bird.  I'm  thinking  he's  mistooken 
his  vocation.  He  ought  to  have  been  a  phonograph  —  or  else  a 
mother-in-law. 

(Enter  LAWTON,  c.  D.) 

LAWTON.     Casey ! 

CAS.  (saluting).     Sor  ? 

LAW.  Take  a  train  was;on,  with  a  couple  of  men,  and  drive  over 
to  the  station  for  the  baggage  of  the  party. 

CAS.     Yis,  sor.     (Salutes,  going.) 

LAW.     And,  Casey  — 

CAS.  (saluting).     Yis,  sor. 

LAW.    Be  lively. 

CAS.     Yis,  sor.     (Salutes,  going.) 

LAW.     And,  Casey  — 

CAS.  (saluting).     Yis,  sor. 

LAW.     A  —  that's  all. 

CAS.     Yis,  sor.     (Salutes,  exit  C.  D.) 

LAW.  And  so  my  little  girl  is  coming  back  again  to  her  soldier 
father  and  soldier  lover.  I  suppose  we  shall  have  that  precious 
Segura  hanging  about  here  again.  With  all  his  wealth  and  ability 
I  cordially  dislike  the  fellow,  and  to  — 

(Enter  SEGURA,  c.  n.from  R.) 

speak  of  the  devil  !     (Goes  L.) 

SEGURA.  A  thousand  compliments,  Col.  Lawton,  from  your 
devoted  servant. 

LAW.  (stiffly).     Thank  you,  Senor  Segura. 

SEG.  Has  your  beautiful  and  accomplished  daughter  arrived 
yet  ?  I  was  told  that  you  expect  her  to-day. 

LAW.     My  daughter  has  not  yet  arrived. 

SEG.  It  will  be  such  happiness  to  welcome  her  return.  She, 
the  life,  the  grace,  the  joy,  of  the  garrison. 

LAW.     Thank  you. 

SEG.  And  I  venture  to  hope  that  she  will  return  whole 
hearted  ? 

LAW.  Indeed !  And  I  venture  to  hope  that  the  question  is  her 
Own  affair.  (Crosses  R.) 


IO  RIO   GRANDE. 

SEG.  (L.).  Ah  —  the  colonel  will  have  his  little  joke.  {Aside.) 
Damn  the  colonel ! 

LAW.  You  must  excuse  me,  senor.  I  have  some  business 
requiring  attention.  Make  yourself  comfortable  (aside)  ;  and  be 
hanged  to  you  !  (Exit  R.  u.  E.) 

SEG.  Thank  you.  (Bows  very  low.)  The  most  comfortable 
thing  I  could  do  would  be  to  run  a  knife  under  his  fifth  rib.  I  dis 
like  him  ;  I  detest  the  girl ;  I  hate  the  whole  cursed  American 
tribe  ;  but  to  get  her  in  my  power,  —  to  crush  the  proud  beauty  as 
I  crush  my  peons,  —  for  that  I  would  be  fool  enough  to  marry  her. 
And  the  man  who  marries  without  just  provocation,  is  the  biggest 
fool  possible. 

(Enter  RETTA,  quickly,  c.  Tt.from  L.) 

RETTA.  O  uncle  !  I  saw  him,  uncle !  (Looks  offi^.)  1  saw 
him  !  He  is  here. 

SEG.     Who? 

RET.  Who  ?  Why,  Paul  —  Capt.  Wybert  He  doesn't  know 
that  we  have  arrived.  Won't  it  be  a  surprise  ?  Oh,  I  am  so 
happy ! 

SEG.  Bah !  You  simpleton !  Have  you  no  sense  ?  If  you 
want  to  lose  your  adorable  captain  altogether,  just  throw  yourself 
at  his  head. 

RET.  I  don't  want  to  lose  him  !  I  don't  (stamping  )  !  I  won't 
lose  him  !  He  shall  love  me  —  he  must  —  or  I  will  — 

SEG.  Finish  your  sentence  ;  or  —  you  will  kill  him.  Exactly. 
That  is  a  part  of  woman's  inheritance  from  Mother  Eve. 

RET.     I  —  I  would  not  harm  him. 

SEG.  No  ?  Not  if  he  trampled  on  your  heart  —  made  it  his 
plaything  —  cast  off  your  love  for  another  —  flouted  you  —  scorned 
you?  (RETTA  nervously  clasps  handle  of  dagger.)  Ah  !  I  thought 
you  would  find  that  interesting. 

RET.  But  he  will  not  —  he  cannot  forget  that  I  saved  his  life 
after  he  was  shot  in  that  battle  with  the  Indians. 

SEG.  Possibly  not.  But  some  day  you  will  learn,  my  dear,  that 
we  men  have  short  memories  for  past  favors.  Did  this  captain 
make  love  to  you  ? 

RET.  No  —  not  very  much.  I  —  I  did  about  all  the  love-mak 
ing. 

SEG.  Without  doubt ;  and  therein  you  played  the  fool.  Re 
member  this  fact :  We  "  lords  of  creation  "  prefer  to  do  the  love- 
making  and  lying  ourselves.  (Goes  up  R.)  When  woman  tries 
to  woo  she  makes  a  mess  of  it,  for  she  speaks  the  truth  and  — 
scares  the  game.  (Exit  R.  U.  E.) 

RET.  I  wish  I  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  It  sounds 
very  pretty  and  grand,  but  —  oh,  there  he  comes  —  there  he 
comes !  (Retires  up  L.) 


RIO    GRANDE.  II 

(Enter  PAUL,  c.  D.,/rom  L.) 

PAUL  (down  c.).  Sophia  has  arrived,  and  in  about  ten  minutes 
1  shall  be  the  happiest  fellow  in  New  Mexico.  Ten  minutes  ? 
It's  more  like  ten  years.  (Sits.)  But  I  must  not  be  impatient. 
Only  I  hope  there  won't  be  a  crowd  of  the  juniors  tagging  after. 
(RETTA  slips  qiiietly  behind  him  and  covers  his  eyes  with  her 
hands.}  Hello*  Oh,  you  rascal!  1  know  who  it  is.  I'll  guess 
the  first  time.  It  is  —  it — is  Sophia  ! 

RET.  (indignantly').     It  is  not!     (Crosses*..) 

PAUL,  (rising).     Retta!     (Aside.)     O  Lord! 

RET.     Who  is  Sophia? 

PAUL.     Eh? 

RET.     Who  is  Sophia  f 

PAUL.     Why  —  she  is  my  —  er —  Miss  Sophia  Lawton. 

RET.     What  is  she  to  you  ? 

PAUL.     Eh? 

RET.     Um  !     (Stamping.)     What  —  is  —  she  —  to  you  ? 

PAUL.  She  is  —  we  are  —  er — I  mean  I  am —  (Aside.)  Oh, 
hang  it  all ! 

RET.     Well,  sir ! 

PAUL.  Look  here,  Retta !  You  have  no  right  to  question  me 
in  this  manner,  and  you  know  it. 

RET.     Paul !     Have  you  forgotten  — 

PAUL.  No.  I  am  profoundly  grateful  for  your  good  services 
when  I  lay  wounded  at  your  home.  I  would  gladly  be  your  friend 
if  I  could.  But  —  pardon  me  —  mere  friendship  seems  impossible 
with  you. 

RET.  O  Paul,  Paul !  I  cannot  believe  it.  (Embracing  him.) 
Tell  me  you  will  —  tell  me  — 

PAUL.  Good  heavens,  Retta!  Can't  you  understand  —  don't 
you  see  — 

(Enter  LAWTON,  c.  D.) 

LAW.    Wybert —     (RETTA  goes  L.) 

PAUL  (saluting).     Sir  ? 

LAW.  (down  c.).  Some  scouts  have  brought  in  a  report.  I 
wish  you  would  receive  it. 

PAUL.  Yes,  sir.  (Aside  to  LAWTON.)  For  heaven's  sake,  get 
rid  of  her. 

LAW.     Who  is  she  ? 

PAUL.  Segura's  niece ;  the  beautiful  devil  who  saved  my  life 
last  summer. 

LAW.     Present  me. 

PAUL.  Retta  —  allow  me  to  present  Col.  Lawton  ;  Colonel,  the 
—  the  Senora  Segura.  I  am  called  away  on  duty,  so  pray  excuse 
me.  (Aside.)  Blessed  relief!  (Exit  c.  n.  to  R.) 

LAW.     When  did  you  arrive,  Miss  Retta? 

RET.    A  half-hour  ago. 


12  RIO    GRANDE. 

LAW.     Then  you  came  with  your  uncle  ? 

RET.  Yes.  He  had  been  here  often,  and  this  time  I  begged 
him  to  let  me  come.  I  wanted  to  see  Paul,  you  know. 

LAW.  "Hem  —  undoubtedly;  but  I  fear  you  will  see  very  little 
of  him.  He  is  engaged  — 

RET.     Engaged  ? 

LAW.  In  military  duties,  you  know.  (Aside.)  What  a  little 
fury ! 

RET.  Military  duties  —  oh,  certainly.  Capt.  Wybert  is  a  born 
soldier. 

LAW.  My  daughter  will  be  here  directly,  and  I  am  sure  that 
she  will  be  delighted  to  welcome  you  as  her  guest,  and  to  thank 
you  for  your  Good  Samaritan  work  with  Capt.  Wybert.  (Goes 
upc.) 

RET.     So  —  then  your  daughter  is  — 

LAW.  (at  c.  D.).     Here  at  last.     (Comes  down  R.     RETTA  goes 

*/L.) 

(Enter  SOPHIA,  quickly,  c.  D.from  L.) 

SOPH,  (running  to  LAWTON).  Oh,  you  dear,  dear,  darling  old 
papa !  (Embracing  him.)  How  glad  I  am !  How  well  you  are 
looking  !  Where  is  Paul  ? 

LAW.  Receiving  reports.  He  will  be  here  directly.  By  the 
way,  let  me  introduce  you  to  Paul's  good  angel,  who  saved  his  life 
last  summer.  Sefiora  Segura  —  may  I  have  the  pleasure  —  my 
daughter,  Miss  Lawton. 

SOPH,  (crossing  to  her).  Who  cannot  thank  you  enough  for 
your  — 

RET.  Keep  your  thanks,  if  you  please,  until  they  are  wanted  ! 
(Exit  R.  u.  E.) 

SOPH,  (surprised).  Of  all  things !  And  he  called  her  an 
angel ! 

LAW.  (aside).     Whew  !     I  smell  a  rat.     (They  go  up  L.) 

(Enter  BIGGS  and  MAMIE,  c.  D  from  L.) 

BiGGS.  Ladies  —  ahem — ah  —  yes.  This  is  the  most  beatific 
moment  of  my  mundane,  corporal  existence.  To  welcome  to  the 
hospitable  shores  of  the  glorious  Rio  Grande  the  quintessence  of 
youth  and  beauty,  from  the  far-distant  East  —  the  American  Ori 
ent,  as  it  were  ;  to  extend  the  right  hand  of  joyful  fellowship 
across  the  broad  continent,  bidding  hail  with  stentorian  lungs  to 
the  fair  denizens  of  the  sounding  seaboard,  and  to  clasp  (sees 
MAMIE  calmly  observing  him)  — and  to  clasp,  er —  (same  busi 
ness)  to  clasp  —  er  —  ahem  —  (same  business)  yes,  as  it  were. 

MAMIE.     Wind  him  up  again  !     He's  run  down  ! 

BIGGS.     Eh  ? 

MAM.     Say,  do  you  sell  real  estate  ? 

BIGGS.     Real  estate  ?     (Aside.)     Bless  my  soul ! 


RIO    GRANDE.  13 

MAM.  Because  that's  just  the  sort  of  comic  opera  a  fellow  gave 
the  governor  and  me  one  day  when  we  went  to  view  a  country- 
place  in  Jersey.  My  !  He  was  a  whole  brass  band,  that  fellow. 

BIGGS.     Was  he  mendacious  —  so  to  speak  ? 

MAM.  You  mean  was  he  a  liar.  Oh  —  no.  He  told  the  truth 
-—  great,  big,  square  chunks  of  it.  Said  the  soil  was  awfully  won 
derful —  could  raise  anything.  He  was  q.  c.  —  quite  correct.  The 
governor  raised  a  mortgage  the  first  thing;  and  Johnnie  —  that's 
my  brother  —  he  raised  um  —  (pointing  downwards)  all  summer 
long. 

BIGGS  (aside).  I'm  paralyzed.  —  Excuse  me,  please.  I  want 
to  go  away  somewhere  and  think.  Judge  Biggs,  you've  met  your 
match  !  O  woman  !  O  woman  !  O  woman  !  (Exit  R.  u.  E.) 

MAM.     Done  up  in  a  single  round.     Next. 

SOPH,  (comes  down  with  LAWTON).  Mamie — let  me  present 
my  father,  Col.  Lawton  ;  my  friend,  Miss  Bangs. 

LAW.      I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you. 

MAM.     Thanks  awfully.     Who  is  that  antique  orator? 

LAW.  Judge  Biggs  —  a  capital  old  fellow,  with  a  wonderful  ca 
pacity  for  saying  nothing.  But  where  are  the  others  ? 

MAM.  Johnnie  is  getting  his  gun.  He  wants  to  shoot  a  few 
buffalo  or  Indians  or  tigers  or  something  before  dinner  ;  and  Mr. 
Cadwallader  is  back  there  helping  your  Irish  corporal  swear  at 
the  trunks. 

LAW.     Helping  Casey  ? 

MAM.  Yes ;  Lieut.  Cadwallader  swears  dreadfully.  I  hav*? 
really  known  him  to  say,  "  Bah  Jove." 

LAW.  (half  aside).     The  devil ! 

MAM.  No  —  the  dude;  but  usually  the  lieutenant  is  very  lady 
like. 

LAW.     And  so  you  had  a  military  escort. 

SOPH.     Oh,  yes  ;     Lieut.  Cadwallader  is  an  N.  G.  soldier. 

LAW.     Eh  ? 

MAM.  N.  G.  S.  N.  Y.  He  is  in  the  National  Guard — tb" 
Dude's  Own.  (Crosses  to  LAWTON,  L.) 

(Enter  PAUL,  c.  D.) 

PAUL.  Sophia ! 

SOPH.  O  Paul! 

MAM.  Go  ahead.  We  won't  look.  (Converses  with  LAW 
TON.) 

PAUL.  And  you  are  really  back  again  ?  (They  stand  swinging 
hands.) 

SOPH.  Really  —  really  —  really  ! 

PAUL.  Now  I  wonder  if  it  is  yourself. 

MAM.  Bite  her  and  see. 

PAUL.  Thank  you.     (Kisses  SOPHIA.) 

MAM.  Well  ? 


14  RIO    GRANDE. 

PAUL.  Genuine,  I  think.  I'll  make  sure  this  time.  {Attempts 
to  repeat  kiss.) 

SOPH.     Be-have  !     Let  me  present  you.     Mamie,  allow  me  — 

MAM.  Oh,  bother!  It's  Capt.  Wybert  and  I'm  Miss  Bangs. 
Don't  waste  valuable  time.  (Going.) 

SOPH.     You  need  not  go,  Mamie. 

MAM.  Of  course  not.  We  wouldn't  dream  of  it,  would  we, 
Colonel  ?  (Takes  LAWTON'S  arm  and  exits  R.  u.  E.) 

PAUL.     Rather  rapid,  isn't  she  ? 

SOPH.     It  is  fashionable. 

PAUL.  Indeed  ?  Then  to  be  up  to  the  times,  a  girl  of  this 
happy  period  must  square  her  shoulders,  talk  horse,  wear  her 
brother's  hat  and  coat,  and  shame  the  devil  with  slang. 

SOPH.  Oh,  you  cynic !  And  yet  you  pretend  to  love  one  of 
these  dreadful  creatures. 

PAUL.     But  you  are  not  fashionable. 

SOPH.     Oh,  thank  you  ! 

PAUL.     I  mean  in  that  way. 

SOPH.     No. 

PAUL.     Thank  Heaven  for  it.     Tell  me  about  the  others. 

SOPH.  Johnnie  is  her  brother.  There  is  Celtic  blood  in  the 
family,  and  he  has  the  most  of  it  —  mischief  and  all.  He  is  a 
dreadful  dime-novel  desperado.  Our  other  guest  is  Lieut.  Cad- 
wallader,  a  holiday  soldier,  whose  knowledge  of  war  is  limited  to 
a  week  once  a  year  in  the  State  encampment,  and  a  weekly  drill  at 
the  armory.  They  are  very  anxious  to  kill  a  few  Indians 

PAUL.     And  they  will  have  a  chance. 

SOPH.     A  chance  ?     Surely —  O  Paul,  you  don't  expect  trouble? 

PAUL.  At  any  moment.  The  authorities  at  Washington,  ac 
cording  to  custom,  have  fed,  clothed,  and  petted  the  red  devils  all 
winter ;  and  now  that  summer  is  here  we  may  expect  an  outbreak 
at  any  point. 

SOPH.     But  not  here  ? 

PAUL.  Very  likely.  I  have  received  a  report  from  our  scouts, 
and  they  tell  me  trouble  is  brewing. 

SOPH,  (half  crying).  Then  you  will  go  and  get  shot  again,  and 
that  horrid  Spanish  girl  — 

PAUL.     Tut,  tut ;  she  saved  my  life,  remember. 

SOPH.  And  now  she  claims  it,  too.  Oh,  I  saw  the  demon  of 
jealous  hatred  in  her  eyes  when  I  tried  to  thank  her.  (Crosses  R.) 

PAUL  (aside).     There  will  be  an  awful  row. 

SOPH.     I  suppose  it  is  very  flattering  to  you. 

PAUL.     Now,  my  darling,  don't  you  be  jealous. 

SOPH.     Well  —  who  has  a  better  right  ? 

PAUL.  Nobody  of  course.  But  come  now,  don't  make  us  both 
unhappy  over  nothing. 

SOPH.     Is  she  nothing  ? 

PAUL.    To  me  ?    Yes. 

SOPH.     But  don't  you  admire  her  ?     Be  careful  now  I 


RIO    GRANDE.  15 

PAUL.  I  admire  her  pluck  When  my  horse  went  down  in  that 
mad  charge,  and  I  lay  wounded  and  helpless  at  the  mercy  of  an 
ambushed  gang  of  Apaches,  it  was  she  alone  who  rode  like  a  whirl 
wind  into  the  crowd  and  whipped  them  single  handed.  Isn't  that 
something  to  admire  ? 

SOPH,  (doubtfully').  Ye — yes.  But  you  won't  fall  in  love  with 
her  because  of  that  ? 

PAUL.     No. 

SOPH.     Never,  never,  never  ? 

PAUL.     Never  —  never  —  never. 

SOPH.     Then  you  may  — 

PAUL.     Seal  the  compact  ?     I  will.     (Kisses  her.) 

(Enter  SEGURA,  R.  u.  E.,  comes  down  C.) 

PAUL.     There  —  the  sky  is  clear  again. 

SEG.     My  compliments  to  Miss  Lawton. 

SOPH.     Oh,  Senor!     (Crosses  L.) 

PAUL  (aside).     Confound  the  Sefior! 

SEG.     Are  we  to  have  amateur  theatricals  at  the  garrison  ? 

SOPH.     Amateur  theatricals  ? 

SEG.     And  perhaps  I  interrupted  a  rehearsal. 

PAUL.     Sir,  do  you  — 

SEG.  Don't  be  offended.  These  little  comedies  are  so  very 
amusing.  Of  course  if  it  were  possible  to  be  serious  upon  such  an 
occasion,  the  result  might  be  disastrous  —  at  least  to  some.  (SOPHIA 
goes  up  L.) 

PAUL.     What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?     Do  you  infer  — 

SEG.  Nothing  whatever.  To  a  man  like  you,  inference  is  quite 
unnecessary. 

PAUL.     What  in  the  devil  are  you  driving  at  ? 

SEG.     Bah  !     A  blind  man  should  see. 

PAUL.     Perhaps  you  want  a  quarrel. 

SEG.     Really  ? 

PAUL  (hotly}.     If  you  do,  sir,  you  will  find  me  — 

SEG.     Don't  exert  yourself.     I  only  quarrel  with  gentlemen. 

PAUL.     You've  gone  too  far,  sir.     I've  a  mind  — 

SEG.  You  forget.  There  is  a  lady  present.  If  you  want  satis 
faction,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  furnish  it,  when  and  where  you 
choose. 

PAUL.     And  you  may  be  sure  I  will !     (They  go  up  R.  and c.) 

(Enter  MAMIE,  quickly,  C.  D.) 

MAM.     Oh,  I'm  dead !     I'm  dead  !     I  know  I  am! 

SOPH,  (beside  her).     Poor  child  !     What  killed  you  ? 

MAM.     You  needn't  laugh  at  me,  so  now! 

PAUL  (L).     But  what  was  it  ? 

MAM.     A  great,  horrid,  awful,  terrible  alligator  1 

ALL.     What ! 


l6  RIO   GRANDE. 

MAM.  I  don't  care.  It  was  an  alligator  or  —  or  something.  And 
it  jumped  right  at  my  stock —  er  —  ahem !  —  Well,  you  know. 

PAUL.     It  was  the  —  ha,  ha,  ha !     (Goes  up  L.,  laughing.) 

MAM.     Oh,  was  it  ?     Well,  I'm  glad   I've  found  out  —  awfully! 

SOPH.  It  belongs  to  the  Judge.  Don't  be  frightened.  Doubt 
less  he  thought  you  were  a  —  a —  (turns  away,  laughing)  ha,  ha, 
ha! 

MAM.  If  the  Judge  thinks  I'm  a  "  ha,  ha,  ha,"  I'll  break  my 
parasol  over  his  head  ! 

(Enter  CASEY,  c.  D.) 

MAM.     Corporal,  did  you  see  him  ? 

CAS.  (saluting).     Indade  I  did;  an'  who  is  he? 

MAM.     That  dreadful  monster? 

SOPH.     The  Judge's  pet 

CAS.  Ye  mane  the  lizard.  Shure  I  did,  Miss,  an' it  threw  me 
into  a  state  av  temporary  insanity,  so  it  did.  (Aside  to  PAUL.) 
The  Colonel  is  axin'  fur  ye,  sor ;  more  scouts  have  arrived,  and  the 
divil  an'  all  is  to  pay.  An'  av  ye  plaze,  sor,  he  sez  kape  mum. 

PAUL.     All  right     (CASEY  salutes  and  exit  c.  D.) 

MAM.  (glancing  at  SEGURA).     Who  is  the  mysterious  stranger? 

PAUL.     A  —  Spanish-American. 

MAM.     Gentleman  or  "gent"? 

PAUL.     Neither. 

MAM.     Stupendous !     Present  him. 

PAUL.     Excuse  me.     (Bows  and  exit  c.  D.) 

MAM.  (aside).  Um  —  case  of  green-eyed  monster  ;  dark  green, 
too  ;  b-a-d  case. 

SOPH.     Come,  Mamie,  let  me  show  you  my  cabinet  of  minerals. 

SEG.  (down  c.).  Pardon  me,  ladies  ;  but  will  Miss  Lawton  favor 
me  with  a  brief  interview  —  in  private? 

SOPH,  (aside}.     Oh,  dear  ! 

MAM.    (aside).      Another   victim!     Oh,    my — gimini !      (Exit 

R.  U.  E.) 

SEG.  Be  seated,  pray.  (They  sit  L.)  What  I  desire  to  say, 
Miss  Lawton,  has  been  in  my  mind  for  a  long  time.  I  should  have 
spoken  before  this  ;  but  you  will  readily  understand  that  a  man  of 
my  rank  and  station  in  life  cannot  permit  himself  to  be  hasty  in 
judgment.  Therefore,  as  the  subject  which  I  am  about  to  pres 
ent —  have  I  the  honor  of  your  attention?  —  thank  you;  as  the 
subject  is  one  of  vital  importance,  it  has  been  well  considered,  in 
all  its  bearings!  My  estates  beyond  the  Rio  Grande,  as  you  may 
know,  are  princely  in  extent,  with  mines  which  yield  a  royal  ransom 
every  year.  My  flocks  and  herds  are  countless,  and  unnumbered 
peons  are  mine  to  command.  All  this,  with  heart  and  hand,  I  lay 
at  your  feet.  I  await  your  answer. 

SOPH.     Senor  Segura,  you  honor  me  too  much  ;  I  —  I  am  — 
SEG.     Not  at  all.     It  is  I  who  will  be  honored.     Have  I  then 
permission  to  address  your  father  ? 


RIO    GRANDE.  If 

SOPH.  Believe  me,  Senor,  I  appreciate  your  offer,  but  —  (rising) 
it  would  be  useless. 

SEG.  Useless  —  indeed  ?  (^Rising.)  May  I  venture  to  ask  the 
reason  ? 

SOPH.     Because  —  I  — 

SEG.     Go  on,  please.     Because  ?  — 

SOPH.     Frankly,  then,  I  do  not  love  you. 

SEG.     That  is  wholly  unnecessary. 

SOPH.     Senor ! 

SEG.  Certainly.  I  am  quite  in  earnest,  I  assure  you.  Love  is 
all  very  well  in  the  abstract,  but  it  borders  too  closely  on  hate  for 
comfort.  Esteem  and  regard  are  much  pleasanter.  And  assuredly 
you  respect  me  —  do  you  not  ? 

SOPH.     Yes  —  but  respect  without  love  — 

SEG.     Is  all  I  ask. 

SOPH.  Then  seek  a  woman  who  will  wed  you  on  those  terms. 
If  I  loved  you,  which  I  do  not  ;  if  I  were  free  to  wed  you  — 
which  I  am  not  —  1  would  never  disgrace  my  American  birth  by 
giving  my  hand  in  such  contemptible  barter.  (Crosses  R.) 

SEG.  An  excellent  doctrine.  What  a  pity  it  is  that  your  title- 
hunting  American  sisters  do  not  oftener  observe  it ! 

SOPH.     That  sneer  is  unworthy  of  you,  Senor.     (Going.) 

SEG.  (stopping  her).  Pardon  me.  If  I  heard  rightly,  you  inti 
mated  that  your  hand  is  already  pledged.  I  take  it  for  granted 
then  that  the  little  comedy  I  witnessed  between  you  and  your  up 
start  Captain  was  a  beautiful  and  romantic  scene  from  real  life  — 
on  your  own  part,  at  least. 

SOPH.     You  grow  insulting,  sir.     Let  me  pass. 

SEG.     Answer  me  this  — 

(Enler  PAUL,  quickly,  c.  D.) 

PAUL.     Answer  him  nothing  ! 

SEG.     How,  sir ! 

SOPH.     Paul,  I  entreat  you  — 

PAUL.  One  moment.  (Ejtter  RETTA,  R.  u.  E.,  remaining 
quietly  at  back.)  This  lady  will  answer  no  questions  from  you. 
(SOPHIAjgOK  to  L.  C.) 

SEG.     Astonishing  !     And  why  not  ? 

PAUL  (hotly'].  Because  she  is  a  lady ;  because  she  is  my 
affianced  wife,  and  as  such  will  hold  no  communication  with  a 
greaser  like  you !  (Exit  with  SOPHIA,  L.  u.  E.  As  he  turns  away, 
SEGURA  with  a  muttered  curse  draws  knife  and  is  about  to  fol 
low,  'when  RETTA  throws  herself  in  front  of  him,  clasping  her 
arms  around  his  neck.) 

RET.     No,  no,  no  ! 

SEG.  (striving  to  break  loose).  Stand  aside!  I  tell  you  — 
stand  aside ! 

RET.     What  would  you  do  ? 

SEG.  (savagely).     And  what  would  you  do  ? 


1 8  RIO    GRANDE. 

RET.     Nothing. 

SEG.  Ay,  but  you  would.  You  would  have  me  spare  the  life  of 
that  upstart  beggar  who  has  crossed  my  path,  scorned  your  love, 
and  broken  your  heart.  (Crosses  L.) 

RET.     Perhaps  he  —  he  will  yet  remember  — 

SEG.     Humph  !     Are  you  such  a  fool  as  that  ? 

RET.  But  I  —  oh,  I  cannot  bear  it —  I  cannot  bear  it.  (Drops 
into  chair  by  table.) 

SEG.  And  are  you  so  weak  —  you  in  whose  heart  beats  the 
proudest  blood  of  old  Castile  ?  Then  pity  him,  weep  for  him,  pray 
for  him,  while  he  laughs  and  jeers  at  your  misery  ! 

RET.     Oh ! 

SEG.     And  perhaps  your  rival  — 

RET.  (quickly).     My  rival ! 

SEG.  Yes,  your  rival  —  your  scornful,  doll-faced  rival  —  will 
laugh  with  him.  Oh,  it  will  be  rare  sport ! 

RET.  (springing  up).     Tell  me,  tell  me  what  I  can  do. 

SEG.     Ah,  you  are  touched  at  last ! 

RET.  Plan,  contrive,  conjure  up  something,  anything,  however 
devilish,  which  shall  make  her  feel  the  agony  that  1  endure. 

SEG.  Kneel,  then,  and  repeat  my  words.  (She  kneels  c.)  "  I 
swear  by  the  Blessed  Mother  —  that  while  life  remains  —  I  will 
stop  at  nothing  —  until  my  wrongs  are  righted."  (She  repeats.) 
There  !  (Draws  her  to  him.)  Now  you  are,  indeed,  worthy  of 
the  land  that  gave  you  birth  ! 

QUICK  CURTAIN. 

ACT   II. 

SCENE.  —Lawn  in  $th  grooves  ;  entrances  L.,  through  tree  wings 
and  through  arches,  R.  u.  E.  and  R.  I  E.  Practicable  porch  to 
set  house  R.  w.  E  ;  rustic  seats  R.  and  L. 

(Enter  MAMIE  and  CADWALLADER,  L.  u.  E.) 

MAM.    There  —  it's  over  with. 

CADWALLADER.     Ya-as.     And  I'm  awfully  glad. 

MAM.     Wasn't  the  drilling  perfectly  splendid  ? 

CAD.  Well,  I  cawn't  say  that  it  was.  Some  of  the  men  looked 
fike  vawy  common  fellahs,  and  I  don't  like  the  cut  of  their  uniforms 
at  all,  don't  you  know.  I  don't  like  men  whose  clothes  don't  fit. 

MAM.  But  I  thought  they  got  there  in  their  evo-what-do-you- 
call-ems  in  great  shape. 

CAD.  Oh,  ya-as  — they  did  do  vawy  well  foh  ordinary  profes 
sional  soldiers,  don't  you  know,  but  of  cawse  they  cawn  t  compaw 
with  our  wegiment. 

MAM.     And,  besides,  they  haven't  any  officers  like  you. 

CAD.     No,  indeed,  they  haven't.     Fellahs  who  follow  a  militawy 


RIO    GRANDE.  IQ 

twade  foh  pay,  cawn't  expect  to  equal  gentlemen  who  dwill  fob 
pastime. 

MAM.     Of  course  not.     (Aside.)     Oh,  isn't  he  a  delicious  guy  ? 

CAD.  And  then  this  dweadful  out-of-the-way  place  must  wuin 
all  the  finah  feelings.  No  cigawettes,  no  soda  watah,  no  vapoh 
baths,  no  stage  doahs,  no  kettledwums,  — 

MAM.     And  sometimes  the  soldiers  really  do  have  to  fight ! 

CAD.  Isn't  it  dweadful!  Think  of  soldiers  fighting!  My 
wegiment  nevah  does  anything  like  that !  But  I  suppose  it's  all 
wight  enough  foh  these  common  soldiers. 

MAM.     It's  lucky  that  you  are  no  common  soldier. 

CAD.     Ya-as. 

MAM.  Now,  if  there  should  be  war,  I  know  that  Col.  Lawton  will 
ask  your  advice. 

CAD.  (complacently}.     No  doubt. 

MAM.     And  you  will  give  it.  won't  you,  lieutenant  ? 

CAD.     Ya-as,  of  cawse. 

MAM.     And  go  off  and  get  killed  for  glory  ? 

CAD.  (doubtfully}.  Ye-ya-as  ;  but  —  aw  (nervously,  without 
drawl),  I  say,  Miss  Bangs,  you  —  you  don't  suppose  that  there 
will  be  trouble  ? 

MAM.  Oh,  no.  (Aside,  highly  amused}  He's  talking  United 
States,  by  all  that's  wonderful!  (Aloud.)  No,  there  will  be  no 
trouble,  but  there  may  be  some  red-hot  fighting ;  so  you  better 
get  your  hair  cut  right  off  short. 

CAD.     Why  had  I  ? 

MAM.     So  they  can't  scalp  you. 

CAD.  This  is  dreadful.  I  (with  an  effort)  aw —  I  mean  dwead 
ful.  Excuse  me,  Miss  Bangs,  I  have  some  business  to  look  aftah. 
(Aside.)  I'll  wun  wight  down  and  see  when  the  next  twain  leaves 
foh  home.  (Exit  L.  I  E.) 

MAM.  If  I  can  only  scare  a  little  manhood  into  him,  and  a  big 
lot  of  the  dude  out,  he  will  make  a  very  decent  fellow.  (Commo 
tion  offR.  u.  E.)  Hello!  There's  a  row,  and  Johnnie  is  into  it 
up  to  his  neck. 

(Enter  JOHNNIE,  CASEY,  and  BIGGS,  R.  u.  E.) 

CAS.  Luk  here,  young  feller;  ye  jist  bate  the  divil  out  o' sight, 
so  ye  do. 

BIGGS.  He  is  certainly  a  most  remarkably  incorrigible  specimen 
of  purely  unadulterated  youthful  depravity. 

JOHNNIE.  Set  'em  up  again  !  When  did  you  swallow  that  dic 
tionary  ? 

MAM.     Jonathan  Montgomery  Bangs  ! 

JOHN.     Keno!     Go  to  the  head! 

MAM.     You  dreadful  boy !     What  have  you  been  doing  ? 

CAS.  Doin',  is  it  ?  Shure,  miss,  he  jist  was  afther  shootin'  ther 
Jedge's  cow  fuil  o'  holes  —  bad  cess  to  him  ! 

JOHN.     I  thought  she  was  a  buffalo. 


2O  ^  RIO   GRANDE. 

MAM.    John  Montgome  — 

JOHN.  Oh,  skip  it !  I  don't  care.  Why  didn't  he  put  a  label 
on  his  blamed  old  milk  tank. 

MAM.     Send  your  bill  to  papa. 

JOHN.  Along  with  the  cow,  and  the  compliments  of  J.  Mont 
gomery  Bangs. 

CAS.  Faith,  I  wish  he  belonged  to  me  fer  jist  wan  minute.  I'd 
bang  him ! 

JOHN,  (swaggering).  Whatter  ye  soy  ?  If  you  want  blood,  call 
on  me.  I'm  the  baddest  kind  of  a  bad  man,  and  I  live  on  nails  and 
gunpowder. 

MAM.  You  will  live  on  bread  and  water  if  you  don't  behave,  for 
I'll  have  the  colonel  lock  you  up. 

JOHN.  Not  muchly  now.  I'm  the  colonel's  right  bower,  I  am. 
See?  There's  going  to  be  war,  sis,  an'  I'm  all  there.  I  shall 
return  from  this  campaign  covered  all  over  with  scalps  and  glory. 
That's  my  gait.  Come  along,  Mame.  There's  Miss  Sophia  look 
ing  for  us.  Perhaps  she  sees  an  Injun.  Woh  !  (Follows  MAMIE 
offL.  I  E.) 

CAS.  Say,  judge,  now  what  do  ye  suppose  the  loikes  o'  him 
was  iver  made  for  onyhow  ? 

BIGGS.  Your  problem,  corporal,  is  one  that  has  taxed  the 
ingenuity  of  the  greatest  writers,  thinkers,  and  psychological 
students  — 

CAS.  (aside).     O  Lord  ! 

BIGGS  (continuing).  Since  the  dawn  of  American  history.  His 
mother  doubtless  imagines  that  he  was  created  to  be  President  of 
the  United  States,  in  which  idea  she  has  a  monopoly,  since  most 
people  know  that  he  was  born  to  be  hung.  Hem !  Now  the 
American  small  boy  —  even  when  he  sheds  his  knickerbockers  — 
is  sui  generis  ;  he  certainly  is  not  pro  bono  publico.  Ahem  ! 
(CASEY  quietly  exits  R.  u.  E.)  In  the  actual  point  of  fact,  the 
earlier  writers  on  anthropology  strenuously  insist  that  this  dispro- 
portionableness  is  prima  facie  evidence  that  (looks  around)  that 
—  that,  oh,  damn  it!  (Goes  up  c.)  It  is  a  strange  fact  that 
whenever  I  open  the  storehouses  of  my  wisdom,  Mrs.  Biggs  goes 
to  sleep,  and  everybody  else  goes  away. 

(Enfer  CADWALLADER,  L.  u.  E.) 

CAD.     Oh,  deah !     I  might  have  known  I'd  get  into  twouble! 

BIGGS.     What  is  the  matter  ? 

CAD.  Why,  they  say  the  wed  skins  have  pulled  up  the  twack 
so  the  twains  cawn't  wun,  and  that  I  cawn't  possibly  get  away. 

BIGGS.  And,  sir,  may. I  ask,  why  do  you  want  to  get  away  —  to 
leave  this  grand  and  glorious  country,  this  favored  land  of  milk 
and  honey  —  where  the  golden  sunshine  mantles  the  brow  of  the 
towering  Magdalena  Mountains,  — 

CAD.     Oh.  blawst  the  Magdalena  Mountains ! 

BIGGS.    Sir! 


RIO   GRANDE.  21 

CAD.     And  blawst  the  blawsted  country! 

BIGGS.  Sir!  I — damn  it,  sir;  that  talk  is  felonious  felony! 
It's  double-dyed  treason,  sir  —  treason  ! 

CAD.  Do  you  suppose  I  want  to  go  fighting  those  dweadful, 
dirty,  ill-smelling  Indians,  with  their  wags  and  tatters  ? 

BiGGS.     Ah  ! 

CAD.  I  don't  mind  a  sham  battle  on  the  pawade  gwound,  don't 
you  know,  because  there  is  always  a  cwowd  of  ladies  awound,  don't 
you  know,  and  a  fellah  can  go  home  and  take  a  bath  when  it  is 
ovah,  and  have  his  valet  bwush  him  up.  (Crosses  R.) 

BIGGS  (L.).     Yah  !  I'm  getting  sick  ! 

(Enter  SEGURA,  R.  u.  E.) 

SEG.  Good-morning,  lieutenant.  Good-morning,  judge.  Why, 
Santa  Maria  !  You  look  as  if  you  had  taken  something  dis 
agreeable. 

BIGGS.   So  I  have  :  a  dose  of  American  —  yah  —  "  aristocracy !  " 

SEG.  {glancing  at  CAD.).    I  understand.    It  is  a  regular  blue  pill ! 

CAD.  I  say,  Mr.  Segura,  about  these  blawsted  Indians;  do  you 
think  there  is  weally  any  —  aw  —  that  is  —  you  see  — 

SEG.  Danger  ?  For  you  ?  None  whatever.  The  Indian  is  a 
peculiar  animal  ;  he  never  harms  people  who  are  non  compos 
mentis. 

BiGGS.     Then  he  is  safe. 

CAD.  Thanks  awfully.  {Aside.)  Now,  what  the  dooce  is  non 
compos  mentis  f  Blawst  his  Spanish  lingo  ! 

SEG.  I  should  imagine,  lieutenant,  being  a  military  man,  that 
you  would  delight  in  a  campaign. 

CAD.  Ya-as  —  I  suppose  it  is  more  exciting  than  lawn  tennis. 
But,  then,  one  is  likely  to  get  so  fwightfully  soiled  and  dirty  —  and 
the  guns  make  such  a  wacket  —  and  you  have  to  dwink  out  of  nasty 
tin  cups,  and  all  that,  don't  you  know.  This,  of  cawse,  to  one  of 
the  awistocwacy  — 

SEG.     Aristocracy  ? 

CAD.     Ya-as. 

SKG.     By  the  way,  what  is  an  American  aristocrat  ? 

CAD.     The  dooce  !     Why,  any  ignowamus  could  answer  that. 

SEG.     I  am  all  attention.     Proceed. 

CAD.  It's  a  fellah  of — of  the  uppah  clavvss  —  who  has — aw 
—  plenty  of  money  —  belongs  to  the  clubs  —  has  a  valet  to  look 
aftah  him  and  dwess  him  —  who  dwinks  plain  soda — aw  —  and 
nevah  associates  with  common  people;  who  —  who  —  gets  his 
clothes  from  London,  and  —  aw  — 

SEG.  Whose  grandfather  ran  a  gin  mill,  sold  furs,  or  raised 
cabbages  !  And  who,  therefore,  looks  down  with  sublime  contempt 
on  all  honest  labor ;  who  is  too  weak  to  argue,  too  cowardly  to 
resist,  and  too  contemptible  to  kick  !  {Crosses  L.) 

CAD.     Look  heah.     Now  —  I  —  I  — 

BIGGS.     'Sh  !    Be  careful  — 


22  RIO   GRANDE. 

CAD.  But  I  cawn't  stand  that,  and  I  won't.  I'll  — 
BIGGS.  Dry  up  !  Unless  you  want  to  be  an  angel ! 
CAD.  Eh  ? 

BIGGS.  That  man  can  snuff  a  candle  at  twenty  paces,  and  he  it 
the  devil  himself  with  a  knife. 

CAD.  (frightenea).    The  dooce  !    Say —   (They  converse  aside?) 

(Enter  LAWTON,  R.  u.  E.) 

LAW.     Senor  Segura  —  a  word,  please. 

SEG.     With  pleasure.     (Goes  up.) 

CAD.     I  wonder  if  I  should  offah  to  tweat  him  to  a  cigawette  — 

BIGGS.  Then  he'd  kill  you  anyhow — vivisect  you  —  skin  you 
alive.  Come  along  !  (Exit,  -with  CAD.  R.  i  E.) 

SEG.     So  you  think  the  outbreak  will  be  serious  ? 

LAW.     I  fear  so. 

SEG.     And  you  intend  to  crush  them  out  this  time  ? 

LAW.     I  certainly  do  —  provided  they  make  a  stand  of  it,  and  — 

SEG.     And  the  "  old  women  "  at  Washington  don't  interfere. 

LAW.     Exactly. 

SEG.  Very  well.  I  will  order  out  a  force  of  cavalry  on  our  side 
of  the  river,  to  cut  off  retreat ;  and,  if  you  choose,  I  will  instruct 
my  men  to  co-operate  with  you,  —  or  perhaps  will  lead  them  in 
person. 

LAW.     A  thousand  thanks,  senor. 

SEG.     You  are  quite  welcome,  colonel. 

(Enter  CASEY,  R.  u.  E.    Salutes  LAWTON.) 

LAW.     What  is  it  ? 

CAS.  (saluting).  The  scouts  are  in,  sor,  an'  waitin'  to  report, 
sor. 

LAW.  I  will  see  them  directly.  (CASEY  salutes  and  exits,  R.  u. 
E.)  Will  you  join  me,  senor  ? 

SEG.  In  a  few  moments.  I  must  despatch  a  courier  with 
orders. 

LAW.  Very  well.  (Aside.)  He's  a  very  decent  fellow  after 
all.  (Exit  R.  u.  E.) 

SEG.  He  is  a  bigger  fool  than  I  thought.  Oh,  yes  —  yes.  My 
men  will  co-operate  with  him !  Precisely.  (Lights  cigar.)  Just 
as  the  Prussians  did  with  Napoleon  in  Russia.  Allies  are  never 
reliable,  and  I  shall  be  surprised  if  my  men  fail  to  do  some  very 
—  careless  —  shooting.  If  this  cursed  Wybert  is  killed  —  well  and 
good  ;  it  will  save  me  the  trouble.  If  he  escapes  —  so  much  the 
worse  — for  him. 

(Enter  RETTA,  R.  u.  E.) 

RET.  Uncle ! 

SEG.  Well,  my  dear  ?     (Seated  L.) 

RET.  Are  you  doing  nothing  ? 

SEG.  I  am  doing  something. 


RIO    GRANDE.  3$ 

RET.  (impatiently).     Well,  what  ? 

SEG.  {coolly).     Smoking. 

RET.     You  have  lost  heart.     You  mean  to  spare  them. 

SEG.     Indeed  ?     You  surprise  me. 

RET.  Do  I  ?  And  you  surprise  me  —  you,  whose  path  no  one  has 
ever  crossed  in  safety  ;  whom  the  natives  call  "  the  lightning  "  be 
cause  of  your  deadly  skill  —  and  before  whom  the  fiercest  bandit 
slinks  and  crawls  with  fear. 

SEG.  (removing  hat).     My  dear  Retta  —  you  flatter  me  ! 

RET.  Yes  ?  Then  does  it  flatter  you  to  say  that  I  am  disgusted 
with  your  indifference  —  that  I  really  believe  you  dare  not  — 

SEG.     Stop  where  you  are.     /  dare  not  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? 

RET.     You  seem  so  quiet  that  I  —  I  — 

SEG.  (rising).  My  dear,  did  you  ever  observe  a  storm  coming  out 
from  the  West  ?  Have  you  watched  the  gray  clouds  rising  slowly 
to  the  zenith,  while  the  air  grew  heavy,  and  Nature's  voice  was 
hushed  in  fear  ?  Have  you  thought  that  amid  that  strange  and 
awful  silence  the  deadly  thunderbolts  were  being  forged  ?  And 
when  at  last  the  fierce  lightning  sprang  forth,  was  it  not  all  the 
more  terrible  for  the  long  silence  ?  Answer  me. 

RET.    Yes. 

SEG.     Good.     I  have  stored  the  lightning. 

RET.     Well  ? 

SEG.     And  it  will  strike  — 

RET.  (eagerly).     Yes  — 

SEG.  When  I  see  fit.  (As  RETTA  turns  away.)  Here — sign 
this  paper.  (  Takes  paper  from  pocket.) 

RET.     What  is  it  ? 

S  EG.      Your  —  marriage  —  certificate  ! 

RET.  (hesitating,  in  doubt).     My — marriage  —  certificate? 

SEG.  You  heard  me.  That  paper  certifies  to  your  marriage  with 
Paul  Wybert. 

RET.     But  I  am  not  —  this  paper  is  a  —  a  — 

SEG.  Forgery?  It  is  quite  possible.  My  skill  with  the  pen  is 
something  remarkable. 

RICT.     This  is  madness  !     We  shall  be  exposed. 

SICG.  My  dear  child,  I  am  not  quite  a  fool  !  Observe  me.  The 
priest  is  dead  whose  excellent  name  I  have  —  well  —  borrowed  for 
this  occasion.  The  witnesses  are  my  creatures  who  would  swear 
away  their  souls'  salvation  to  spite  an  American. 

RET.     If  they  should  not  — 

SEG.     Then  I  would  cut  their  throats. 

RET.     But  the  marriage  register  ? 

SEG.     Will  quietly  disappear. 

RET.     Your  plan  is  fiendish. 

SEG.     As  I  intended. 

RET.     I'll  not  do  it. 

SEG.     What  ?     Be  careful,  now ! 

RET.     I  cannot  —  I  cannot ! 


24  RIO    GRANDE. 

SEG.  Very  well.  Then  your  lovely  rival  wins  him.  She  will 
flaunt  her  victory  before  your  eyes,  while  people  will  utter  covert 
sneers,  and  openly  point  to  you  as  the  cast-off  toy  of  the  Amer 
ican  ! 

RET.     Uncle  !     You  torture  me.     (Crosses  R.) 

SEG.  Look  yonder !  (Pointings.)  There  they  go.  See  how 
she  smiles  on  him  —  and  how  happy  he  is.  Now  they  look  this 
way.  See  —  they  are  laughing  at  you.  Isn't  it  delightful?  Ah, 
Senora.  How  you  must  enjoy  it ! 

RET.  Give  me  the  paper  —  quick  —  give  it  me  !  Where  shall 
I  sign  ? 

SEG.     There  —  under  his  name. 

RET.  Yes  —  I  can  see  her  wither  and  shrink  before  this.  I 
can  see  her  proud  head  droop,  and  the  haughty  light  fade  from  her 
eyes.  Ah,  I  could  cry  for  joy —  I  am  so  happy  !  Wait  for  me.  I 
will  return  in  a  moment.  {Exit  R.  u.  E.) 

SEG.  How  easy  it  is  to  make  a  fool  of  her.  A  passionate 
woman  is  the  most  unaccountable  creature  on  earth,  for  she  loves  or 
hates  without  rhyme  or  reason.  Touch  her  heart  and  she  will  blow 
hot  or  cold —  kill  or  caress  —  all  in  a  single  breath. 

{Enter  RETTA,  quickly,  R.  u.  E.) 

RET.     I  have  signed  the  paper. 

SEG.     'Sh!     Don't  tell  all  creation. 

RET.     Do  you  want  it? 

SEG.     Yes.     (Takes paper.)     Say  nothing  of  this. 

RET.     I  am  on  fire  with  impatience. 

SEG.    No  doubt  of  it. 

RET.  I  want  to  see  her  fall  at  my  feet,  crushed  and  broken  ;  to 
see  her  weep  her  heart  out  in  bitter  agony  as  I  have  done.  I  can 
not  wait  for  the  time.  Do  hurry!  (Crosses  L.) 

SEG.  My  dear,  your  true  epicure  does  not  bolt  his  food  nor  pour 
down  his  imperial  Tokay  ;  and  only  a  fool  kills  an  enemy  quickly, 
if  he  can  place  the  soul  itself  upon  the  rack. 

RET.     Oh,  what  a  splendid  hater ! 

SEG.  For  I  study  it.  Hating  is  an  art  which  should  never  be 
governed  by  passion.  Yesterday  I  only  disliked this  Capt.  Wybert, 
and  would  have  killed  him  with  pleasure  ;  to-day  I  cordially  hate 
him,  and  would  not  harm  his  precious  body  for  the  world. 

RET.     What  would  you  do  ? 

SEG.  Ruin  him  —  disgrace  him  —  scourge  him  from  the  sight  of 
honest  men;  make  his  life  a  waking  nightmare  —  an  inferno  — 
surpassing  even  Dante's  wildest  dream. 

RET.     But  his  "  dear  Sophia  "  —  what  of  her  ? 

SEG.  That  is  your  part  in  our  little  drama.  You  must  arouse 
her  jealousy  —  set  them  to  quarrelling  —  and  thus  stir  up  the  devil 
all  around.  When  you  meet  Wybert  you  must  act  submissive 
—  chastened  ;  thus  you  disarm  suspicion  and  gain  his  confidence. 


RIO    GRANDE.  25 

Then  awaken  pity  by  your  tears  and  self-reproaches.  Tell  him 
you  are  unworthy  — 

RET.     Uncle ! 

SEG.  It  is  a  lie,  of  course;  but  all  is  fair  in  love  and  war. 
Besides,  it  will  be  an  amusing  turnabout,  for  man  has  lied  to 
woman  since  the  dawn  of  history.  {Exit  R.  I  E.) 

RET.  Not  worthy  of  him  ?  No — and  can  never  be.  Paul  is 
noble,  grand,  honorable  —  while  I  am  a  base,  sinful  girl.  Can  I 
sink  so  low  that  I  may  chide  myself  thus  ?  No  !  I  will  not ! 
(Goes  rip  c.)  I  will  have  no  share  in  such  a  monstrous  crime.  I 
will  —  {looks  L.)  oh  —  there  they  are  !  He  is  bidding  her  good-by 
—  his  arm  is  around  her  —  their  lips  meet —  I  —  I  —  O  God,  my 
heart  is  breaking!  (Sinks  into  seat,  R.,  sobbing;  a  pause;  then 
looks  up  with  fierce,  sudden  joy.)  He  said  I  must  act  submissive, 
chastened.  Yes!  And  thus  divert  suspicion!  I  can!  I  will! 
He  shall  applaud  me  as  an  actress  !  Yes  !  (goes  up.)  Here  comes 
Paul — my  audience!  Ah,  how  I  hate  him  —  how  I  hate  him! 
(Sits  R.) 

(Enter  PAUL,  L.  u.  E.) 

PAUL.  The  government  ought  to  be  —  blessed.  Thanks  to  the 
old  grannies  at  Washington  we  are  called  upon  to  feed  the  cursed 
Indians  all  winter  and  fight  them  all  summer.  I  rather  enjoy  a  row 
myself,  but  just  at  the  present  moment  I  feel  like  (sees  RETTA) 
the  um-m ! 

RET.  Paul  —  Capt.  Wybert —  I  —  wish  to  speak  with  you  for  a 
moment. 

PAUL.  Yes — I  know;  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  really  have  no 
time  to  spare.  (Going.) 

RET.     Paul  — 

PAUL.     Well  ? 

RET.     Not  a  moment  in  all  eternity  ? 

PAUL.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

RET.  That  you  will  never  see  me  again  ;  that  I  shall  annoy  you 
no  more.  If  I  feel  no  shame  when  I  confess  that  I  have  loved  you 
with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  it  is  because  I  know  how  hopeless  and 
unvalued  that  love  is.  Perhaps  you  will  think  me  bold,  un- 
maidenly  — 

PAUL.     Why,  Retta — 

RET.  But  forgive  me,  Paul,  and  pity  me.  I  should  have  known 
that  you  could  never,  never  love  one  so  unworthy  as  I  —  I  —  (sob 
bing.) 

PAUL.  Unworthy?  Retta,  child,  don't  debase  yourself  by  such 
words.  You  make  me  feel  like  a  hard,  insensible  brute.  It  is  I 
who  am  unworthy  of  such  love  as  yours  —  I  whose  very  life  should 
be  yours  to  command.  If  I  had  known  — 

RET.  Stop !  You  cannot  undo  the  past.  You  are  bound  to 
another,  and  must  not  think  of  me  until  —  until  I  am  gone! 

PAUL.    But,  Retta  — 


26  RIO   GRANDE. 

RET.  You  will  not  think  of  me  harshly  when  I  am  dead  —  will 
you,  Paul  ?  You  will  sometimes  let  your  memory  linger  kindly 
upon  the  poor  girl,  untutored  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  who  would 
gladly  have  given  up  her  life  for  you,  and  whose  dying  breath  was 
an  orison  for  your  happiness. 

PAUL  (much  affected).  Don't,  Retta.  Your  words  unman  me. 
(Sits  L.) 

RET.  (aside').  I  wonder  how  I  am  doing  ?  {Goes  up  slightly 
and  looks  L.)  And  she  is  watching  us!  Excellent  —  excellent! 
Now  for  it !  (Comes  down  and  kneels  beside  PAUL.)  And  you, 
too,  are  going  away.  In  this  world  we  may  never  meet  again.  Do 
you  forgive  me  ? 
•  PAUL.  I  have  nothing  to  forgive. 

RET.     Then  will  you  promise  me  something? 

PAUL.     What  is  it  ? 

RET.  Promise  that  you  will  tell  no  living  soul  what  passed  in 
this  interview. 

PAUL.     1  promise. 

RET.     And  will  you  grant  me  one  more  favor  — only  one  ? 

PAUL.     Gladly. 

RET.  Then  put  your  arms  around  me,  and  kiss  me,  Paul,  for 
the  first  and  last  time.  (He  does  so.}  Thank  you.  (They  rise.)  I 
am  faint  and  weary.  Please  take  me  in.  {They  go  R.,  and  RETTA 
draws  his  arm  around  her.) 

{Enter  SEGURA  and  SOPHIA,  L.  u.  E.     He  restrains  her.) 

RET.     I  can  trust  you,  then  ? 

PAUL  (puzzled  ).     Trust  me  ?     Why,  yes  — certainly  you  can. 

RET.  Ah,  Paul,  now  I  can  bid  you  good-by  with  resignation,  for 
you  have  taken  such  a  load  from  my  heart.  {They  exit,  R.  I  E.) 

SOPH.     You  saw  that  ? 

SEG.     With  lasting  regret. 

SOPH.     Oh,  indeed  ! 

SEG.  Believe  me  —  truly.  Capt.  Wybert  was  my  guest  some 
months  ago,  and  pretended  to  conceive  a  great  passion  for  my 
niece  —  whose  guardian  I  am.  Although  I  strongly  opposed  his 
suit,  yet  I  considered  him  a  man  of  honor.  Certainly  I  never 
dreamed  that  he  was  engaged  to  you.  This,  I  trust,  will  excuse 
my  apparent  ill-temper  of  last  evening. 

SOPH.  Yes.  I  —  I  appreciate  your  motive.  But  your  niece 
should  be  told  — 

SEG.     She  has  been. 

SOPH.     And  yet  — 

SEG.     She  hinted  at  something  more  than  a  mere  engagement. 

SOPH.     Something  more  ?     Can  it  be  possible  that  — 

SEG.  My  niece  is  an  honest  girl,  Miss  Lawton,  however  head 
strong  and  wilful. 

SOPH.  Then  it  is  I  whom  that  profligate  would  have  duped! 
Oh,  the  shame,  the  humiliation,  of  this  moment ! 


RIO   GRANDE.  2/ 

SEG.     Poor  child  !  I  pity  you. 

SOPH.     Senor  Segura,  yesterday  you  professed  regard  for  me. 
SEG.    Yes  — 

SOPH.     To-day,  if  you  can  take  me  as  I   am,  with  a  heart  of 
ashes,  shamed,  degraded,  in  my  own  eyes  —  then  —  I  am  yours. 
SEG.  (embracing  her}.     Mine,  at  last! 

(Enter  PAUL,  quickly,  R.  u.  E.) 

PAUL.    Sophia ! 

SEG.     Well,  sir,  what  is  it  ? 

PAUL  (hotly}.     Unhand  that  lady  ! 

SEG.  (sneering*).     How  very  melodramatic  ! 

PAUL.     By  Heaven,  I'll  — 

SEG.  (facing  him  with  folded  arms).     Will  you? 

SOPH.     Senor — please  —  leave  me  for  a  moment. 

SEG.     Your  servant.     (Kisses  her  hand,  and  exits,  L.  U.  E.) 

SOPH.     Well,  sir? 

PAUL.     Tell  me  what  this  means. 

SOPH.  Do  you  wish  to  know  ?  Then  look  into  your  own  false 
heart  for  the  answer. 

PAUL.     Are  you  mad  ? 

SOPH.     Yes  ;  mad  with  rage  at  your  duplicity. 

PAUL.     My  duplicity  ?     Well  —  I'll  be  hanged ! 

SOPH.     No  doubt  of  it. 

PAUL.  My  duplicity!  Mine?  And  perhaps  you  will  ex 
plain  — 

SOPH.  Yes,  when  you  explain  the  meaning  of  the  scene  which 
I  have  witnessed. 

PAUL.  Oh,  that!  Why,  you  see —  (Aside.}  Devil  take  the 
luck  !  I  promised  to  say  nothing.  You  —  er  —  you  see  — 

SOPH.     Precisely  ;  I  did  see,  —  to  your  shame  be  it  said. 

PAUL.     But,  my  dear  — 

SOPH.  That  will  do.  Don't  add  another  falsehood  to  your 
infamy. 

PAUL.     Sophia!     You  will  regret  this. 

SOPH.  No.  I  can  only  regret  the  day  when  first  I  met  you. 
(Crosses  R.  PAUL^WJ  up  c.  Bugles  sound  off  L.  u.  E.) 

PAUL.  What  you  saw  bears  no  disgrace  to  me.  /  cannot,  in 
honor,  explain  ;  but,  will  you  not?  (A  pause.}  Very  well  then. 
The  assembly  is  called.  My  command  is  waiting.  I  shall  soon 
go  out  to  battle,  and  if  I  never  return  —  O  Sophia,  tell  me  —  shall 
we  part  like  this?  I  will  forget  what  I  witnessed  ;  I  will  believe 
nothing  ill  of  you.  Can  you  not  return  faith  for  faith  ? 

SOPH.     Tell  me  what  you  were  saying. 

PAUL.     I  can  tell  you  nothing. 

SOPH.     Then  go !     (Sits  R.) 

PAUL  So  be  it.  (Martial  music  sounds  faintly,  L.  u.  E.)  I 
had  thought  of  this  campaign  with  pride,  if  not  with  joy ;  for  it 
promised  me  new  honors  and  higher  rank,  which  should  all  be 


25  RIO    GRANDE. 

yours.  Now,  I  think  of  nothing  but  the  death  I  court;  for  1 
(enow  that  if  my  life  goes  out  it  will  cause  you  neither  pain  nor 
sorrow.  Farewell,  then,  Sophia.  Farewell.  God  bless  you. 
{Exit  quickly,  L.  U.  E.  Music  dies  away.  Brief  pause.) 

SOPH,  (startled).  Paul!  (Rising.)  Paul!  {Up  L.)  Gone! 
Gone  !  Oh,  my  heart !  (Sobs.) 

(Enter  LAWTON,  R.  u.  E.) 

LAW.  (briskly).     Well,  my  dear,  we're  off. 

SOPH,  (embracing  him).     Father  ! 

LAW.  There,  there.  It  may  be  nothing  but  a  skirmish,  and 
perhaps  they  won't  even  show  fight. 

SOPH.     Then  why  go  at  all  ? 

LAW.  Come,  come,  my  dear!  Remember,  j^ou  are  a  soldier's 
daughter.  Remember,  too,  that  if  anyth'ng  happens  to  me,  there 
is  a  Father  above  (cap  off — solemnly)  whose  loving  eye  will 
watch  over  you  by  day  and  by  night ;  whose  loving  hand  will 
guide  and  protect  you  forever.  (Music  as  before)  There,  the 
boys  are  waiting  for  me.  Good-by,  my  dear  child.  (Kisses  her.) 
Good-by.  (Exit,  L.  u.  E.) 

SOPH,  (brokenly).  Good-by.  {Follows  to  L.  u.  E.  Stands 
looking  off.  Music  fainter.) 

{Enter  MR.  and  MRS.  BIGGS,  R.  u.  E.) 

BiGGS.  Mrs.  Biggs,  your  remarks,  as  usual,  are  highly  edify 
ing  ;  nevertheless,  however,  I  am  under  the  necessity  of  saying 
au  revozr. 

MRS.  B.     Have  you  got  that  dreadful  what-do-you-call-it  again  ? 

BIGGS.  No,  my  dear;  " au  revofr"  \s  not  the  toothache.  It 
means,  in  simple  English,  farewell  for  the  present  particular  time 
being  until  another  day's  bright  sunshine  gilds  the  knell  of  parting 
day,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ;  you  understand  ? 

MRS.  B.     Yes  ;  but  what  are  you  talking  about  ? 

BIGGS.  Well,  Mrs.  Biggs,  the  regiment  is  going  off  hunting 
Indians  — 

MRS.  B.     And  you  are  gug-gug-going,  too,  Jeremiah  ? 

BIGGS.  Such  is  my  present,  duly  considered,  unchangeable 
resolution. 

MRS.  B.  Don't  go  and  leave  me  a  widow,  Jeremiah.  (Embra 
cing  him.)  Say  you  won't,  you  darling  old  Jerry.  {He  shakes  his 
head.)  You  precious  old  fool ! 

BIGGS.  Eh  !  What !  Damme  !  I'll  fine  you  for  contempt  of 
court ! 

MRS.  B.     Fine  your  great-grandmother's  fourth  cousin  ! 

BIGGS.  'Sh-sh  !  Keep  mum  !  I'm  going  out  with  Lieut.  Cad- 
wallader.  He  has  paid  me  to  conduct  him  to  a  safe  point  of  ob 
servation.  We  won't  .yet  within  ten  miles  of  an  Indian.  Do  you 
observe  that  no  flies  cling  to  my  person  ?  {They  join  SOPHIA.) 


RIO    GRANDE.  2Q 

(Enter  JOHNNIE,  dragging  in  CADWALLADER,  R.  u.  E.) 

JOHN.  Come  on,  Cad.  We'll  do  'em !  We'll  do  'em ! 
Hooray!  We'll  do  'em!  Whoop!  I'm  the  whirling  blizzard 
of  the  wild  and  woolly  —  blood  in  me  eye,  whatter  ye  soy  —  say, 
got  yer  gun  ? 

CAD.     Ya-as.     {Takes  tiny  pistol  from  vest  pocket.) 

JOHN.  O  mamma !  Look  at  the  rifled  cannon  !  Look  at  it ! 
Say,  if  you  shoot  a  man  with  that  thing  you  want  to  break  for 
cover. 

CAD.     Aw  —  why  ? 

JOHN.  'Cause  if  he  found  it  out  he'd  whale  the  stuffing  out  of 
you  !  Sizz  —  boom —  ah-h  !  {Exit,  L.  i  E.) 

BIGGS  (down  c.).     Come,  lieutenant. 

CAD.  (hesitating).  You're  quite,  quite,  QUITE  sure  that  we  — 
aw  —  wun  no  wisk  ? 

BIGGS.     No  risk  whatever. 

CAD.  (lights  cigarette).     Aw,  thanks. 

BIGGS.  Those  cussed  cigarettes  would  protect  you  anyhow. 
(Sniffing.)  Indians  can't  stand  everything.  (Exit  with  CAD 
WALLADER,  L.  I  E.) 

(Enter  MAMIE,  R.  u.  E.,  followed  by  SEGURA  ##^RETTA.) 

MAM.  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  oh,  dear  !  They're  both  going  away 
to  get  killed ! 

MRS.  B.  (down  c.).     So  is  Jeremiah  ! 

MAM.     And  they'll  get  shot  all  full  of  great  big  ho-ho-holes ! 

MRS.  B.     And  the  Indians  will  cut  off  their  h-h-heads! 

MAM.     And  I'll  bet  they'll  get  killed  ! 

MRS.  B.     I'm  shoo-shoo-shoo-sure  of  it! 

MAM.     But  I  won't  cry. 

MRS.  B.     Me  neither. 

BOTH.     Boo  hoo-hoo !     (Embracing.) 

MRS.  B.     Don't  c-c-cry,  dear. 

MAM.     I  ain't  going  to  ! 

MRS.  B.     Me  neither  ! 

BOTH  (as  before).  Boo-hoo-hoo !  (They  embrace  and  go 
up  c.) 

SOPH.  (L.).     Mamie. 

MAM.  (L.).    Yes,  dear. 

SEG.  (down  R.  to  RETTA).     What  do  you  think  of  my  scheme  ? 

RET.     It  is  magnificent  —  and  yet  — 

SEG.  (impa tien tly).     And  yet  ?     And  what?     (Music  louder.) 

RET.     Nothing.     (Music  —  brisk  march.) 

MRS.  B.  (at  back).     Look!     There  they  go  ! 

MAM.  (clapping  hands).  There's  the  colonel!  Hooray  1 
(Waves  handkerchief.) 

RET.    And  there  is  Paul  1 


3O  RIO    GRANDE. 

SOPH.  (L.  c.).  Paul !  Paul !  Come  —  come  back !  Ah  ! 
(Drops  fainting,  L.  c.) 

SEG.  (to  RETTA).  See!  Your  revenge  has  begun!  (Music 
swells.) 

CURTAIN. 

ACT  III. 

SCENE.  —  Same  as  first  act,  except  that  curtains  are  drawn  and 
a  lighted  lamp  is  on  table.  Lights  partly  down.  Landscape  as 
seen  through  windows  at  first  shows  moonlight  effects  which 
grow  fainter  and  gradually  change  to  sunlight.  This  act  begins 
before  dawn  of  the  third  day.  Discover  RETTA  at  window,  L. 
MRS.  BIGGS  is  in  arm-chair  up  R.,  while  MAMIE  sits  at  her 
feet  pillowing  her  head  in  her  lap.  Both  are  asleep.  Soft  and 
plaintive  music  at  rise  of  curtain. 

RET.  {dropping  curtain  and  turning  away).  Oh,  the  long  and 
weary  night !  Will  it  never  end  ?  And  when  the  gray  dawn 
comes,  what  news  will  it  bring  —  victory  or  defeat,  life  or  death  ? 
They  are  asleep.  {Looks  off  L.  u.  E.)  And  she,  too,  is  sleeping 
at  last,  worn  out  with  weary  watching.  {Down  L.)  But  I  cannot 
rest,  nor  sleep.  (Sits  L.,  front.)  I  so  longed,  so  prayed  for 
revenge ;  but  now  that  I  have  gained  it  through  the  dreadful 
wrong  I  did  her  and  him,  how  poor  and  weak  it  is,  and  how 
wretched  it  has  made  me  !  They  say  that  revenge  is  sweet.  It  is 
a  lie,  for  revenge  is  bitter  as  wormwood.  (Rising.)  I  can  not,  I 
will  not  endure  it.  1  will  awaken  her  and  tell  her  everything. 
(Goes  up  L.)  But  no.  {Pausing?)  He  may  have  fallen,  and  then 
her  pity  for  me  will  turn  to  loathing.  O  Mother  in  heaven,  what 
shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do  ?  (Sinks  into  chair  near  window,  over 
come  with  emotion.) 

MAM.  {waking).  Ah-h !  {Yawns.)  Oh,  dear !  Ouch!  I've 
broken  my  neck.  Mrs.  Bi  —  {yawns)  iggs  !  Mrs.  Biggs,  wake  up  ! 

MRS.  B.     Heh  ?     A-oh,  I  wasn't  asleep.     {Yawns.) 

MAM.     Neither  was  (yawns)  I  —  much. 

MRS.  B.     It  must  be  near  morning. 

MAM.  (looking  at  watch).     Yes,  it's  four  o'clock. 

MRS.  B.     Poor  Mr.  Biggs  !     I  know  he's  killed. 

MAM.  Yes,  and  poor  Lieut.  Cadwallader,  I  know  he's  scared  to 
death. 

MRS.  B.     I  shall  be  a  poor,  lone  widow.     {Crying) 

MAM.  I  won't  even  have  that  consolation,  and  I  look  just  divine 
in  black. 

MRS.  B.  Think  of  poor  Mr.  Biggs  sleeping  there  on  the  cold 
ground  without  his  nightcap. 

MAM.  And  think  of  the  poor  lieutenant,  out  there  fighting 
Indians  and  getting  killed,  without  a  chance  to  comb  his  hair  or 
even  put  on  a  clean  collar. 


RIO   GRANDE.  3 1 

MRS.  B.  It  must  be  growing  light.  Come  out  on  the  veranda 
and  see  if  any  one  is  stirring.  Those  pesky  Indians  !  I  wish  they 
were  all  dead. 

MAM.  They  might  be,  if  we  had  only  sent  them  enough  rum 
and  missionaries.  (Exit  with  MRS.  B.,  c.  D.) 

RETTA  (rising  and  looking  through  window).  The  dawn  is 
breaking.  A  faint,  rosy  glow  lights  up  the  distant  mountains,  but 
the  earth  looks  dark  and  ghostly  under  the  waning  moonbeams. 
(Drops  curtain.)  And  my  soul  is  dark  —  dark  as  the  heavy  mid 
night.  Look  where  I  may,  I  can  see  no  ray  of  light,  no  gleam  of 
hope.  (Down  c.)  Where  shall  I  go  ?  what  can  I  do  ?  A  few 
hours  ago  I  was  as  happy  as  the  merry  bird  that  sings  beside  my 
window  ;  and  now  I  am  miserable  as  a  spirit  of  darkness,  shut 
out  forever  from  light  and  joy  and  peace.  (Seated,  R.)  Ah 
(shivers),  what  is  the  matter  ?  What  is  it  ?  I  am  cold  —  cold  — 
as  if  an  icy  blast  of  winter  was  sweeping  through  the  room.  Oh  ! 
(Rising.)  My  heart  feels  like  lead.  I  am  numb,  choking  —  ah! 
(Faints,  dropping  into  chair,  R.) 

(Enter  SOPHIA,  L.  u.  E.) 

SOPH,  (winning  to  RETTA).  Retta  (kneeling  beside  her) ! 
Retta!  Retta!  Oh!  is  she  dead?  Retta!  What  shall  I  do? 
(Raises  her  head.)  Speak  to  me,  dear  !  can't  you  ? 

RET.  (dazed).     What  is  the  matter? 

SOPH.  You  were  over-excited,  nervous,  frightened  —  as  we  all 
are  at  this  time. 

RET.     And  I  fainted  ? 

SOPH.     Yes,  dear. 

RET.     How  thoughtless  of  me  ! 

SOPH.    Thoughtless  ? 

RET.     Yes  —  and  selfish  ;  for  I  disturbed  your  rest. 

SOPH.     Poor  dear  !  what  a  good,  kind  heart  you  have  ! 

RET.     I  ?     Oh,  don't  — 

SOPH.  And  I  have  really  been  cruel  enough  to  think  ill  of  you. 
Forgive  me,  dear. 

RET.  Forgive  you  ?  Nay,  it  is  I  who  should  ask  forgiveness. 
It  is  I  who  should  kneel  at  your  feet  and  humbly  beg  for  mercy. 

SOPH.     Retta! 

RET.  Scorn  me,  hate  me  if  you  will,  pity  me  if  you  can ;  but 
don't  be  kind  to  me.  No,  no,  no;  it  makes  me  hate  myself. 

SOPH.  Poor  child !  You  have  nothing  to  regret.  You  could 
not  know  that  he  was  playing  me  false  ;  and  even  if  you  had  known 
of  it,  the  blame  was  not  your  own. 

RET.  (aside).  She  finds  ready  words  to  excuse  me.  But  what 
would  she  say  if — dare  I,  dare  I  tell  her?  If  you  knew  — 

SOPH.  I  do  know  that  you  have  been  sadly,  shamefully  wronged. 
(RETTA  weeps.)  But  don't  feel  so  badly.  There  will  yet  be  sun 
shine  and  joy  for  you.  He  cannot  be  entirely  heartless.  And  when 
they  return  — 


32  RIO    GRANDE. 

RET.     Perhaps  they  never  will  return. 

SOPH.  Oh,  yes  ;  they  will.  My  father  is  an  experienced  officer, 
and  he  said  it  might  be  only  a  brief  skirmish.  Besides,  your  — 
your  — 

RET.  Uncle  ?  Don't  speak  of  him.  I  am  almost  wicked 
enough  to  hope  that  I  may  never  see  him  again. 

SOPH,  (aside).  I  don't  think  that  would  be  anything  very 
wicked. 

(Enter  MRS.  BIGGS  and  MAMIE,  c.  D.) 

MRS.  B.     Oh-h  !     Some  one'is  coming. 
SOPH.     Who  is  it  ? 

MRS.  B.     I  don't  know;  a  man,  or  —  a  —  something. 
MAM.     I'm  just  dead  sure  it's  something.     (RETTA  and  SOPHIA 
go  up  L.) 

MRS.  B.     D-d-don't  be  frightened. 

MAM.     I'm  n-n-not  —  are  y-y-you  ? 

MRS.  B.     Not  a  bit.     I  —  o-o-ch  !     (Runs  R.) 

MAM.     Oh-h !     (Runs  L.) 

(Enter  CADWALLADER,   c.   D.,   "without  hat,  clothing  torn,  eye 
blackened,  face  scratched,  and  generally  used  up.) 

MAM.     There  !     It's  the  lieutenant.     I  knew  they'd  kill  him. 

CAD.  (dropping  into  chair).    Ya-as  — we're  all  killed. 

MAM.     Are  you  dead  ? 

MRS.  B.     Are  you  hurt? 

RET.     Where  is  Paul  ? 

SOPH.     Where  is  father  ? 

MAM.     Where  is  Johnnie  ? 

MRS.  B.     Where  is  Jeremiah  ? 

ALL.     Where  are  they  ? 

CAD.     Ya-as  —  I  suppose  so. 

MAM.     How  many  did  you  kill  ? 

CAD.     How  many  what  ? 

ALL.     Indians ! 

CAD.  Blawst  the  Indians !  I  haven't  seen  any.  (General 
disgust.) 

RET.     Then  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 

CAD.     Mattah  ?     Dooce  it  all,  I'm  a  week  —  a  total  week. 

MAM.     You  look  it. 

CAD.     Ya-as  ;  I  look  weal  dweadful,  don't  I  ? 

MRS.  B.    You  wretch  !    What  have  you  done  with  my  Jeremiah  ? 

CAD.  And  what  has  youah  Jewemiah  done  with  me  ?  Led  me 
astway,  wuined  me  complexion,  spoiled  me  clothes!  D-d-damn 
youah  Jewemiah  !  (Exit  MRS.  BIGGS,  indignantly,  c.  D.) 

MAM.  Tell  us  all  about  it,  that's  a  dear.  (SOPHIA  and  RETTA 
go  up  L.  and  exit,  L.  u.  E.) 

CAD.     I  cawn't  wemembah  much,  don't  you  know. 

MAM.  (impatiently).    Well,  well ! 


RIO    GRANDE.  33 

CAD.     Ya-as.     We  followed  the  men  foh  a  time,  at  a  distance  — 

MAM.     Of  course  ;  go  on  ! 

CAD.  We  did.  It  was  awfully  hot,  and  the  men  got  way  ahead 
of  us,  and  by  and  by  we  heard  some  shooting,  and  a  gwate,  big 
wabbit  spwang  up  in  the  path  and  fwightened  the  ponies,  and  his 
wan  that  way  and  mine  wan  this  way  — 

MAM.     Toward  the  fort  ? 

CAD.  Ya-as.  Then  I  lost  command  of  the  bwute,  and  I  also 
Jost  me  hat  and  me  eyeglasses  and  me  walking-stick,  and  —  and 
me  ciga-.vettes  !  Wasn't  it  shocking  ? 

MAM.     Paralyzing.     And  then  —  keep  it  up  —  and  then  ? 

CAD.  The  next  thing  I  knew  me  feet  got  out  of  the  stirrups,  and 
I  had  to  hang  on  awound  the  pony's  neck.  Then  suddenly  he 
stopped. 

MAM.     Well — goon. 

CAD.  (dolefully).     I  did. 

MAM.     You  did? 

CAD.     Ya-as.     Look  at  me.     (Rising  and  turning  around.) 

MAM.     Then  what  ? 

CAD.     Nothing,  foh  I  landed  on  me  head. 

MAM.     That  was  lucky. 

CAD.  I  beg  to  diffah.  It  disturbed  me  bwains,  which  is  some 
thing  I  nevah  do  meself ;  besides  that,  I  had  to  walk  back,  and  1 
lost  me  way,  and  I  know  I  shall  be  a  week  all  me  life. 

MAM.  Oh.  no,  you  won't.  With  a  few  more  such  adventures, 
you  will  develop  into  a  thoroughbred  cow  —  er  — 

CAD.     Aw  — 

MAM.  —  boy  ;  cowboy. 

CAD.  (half  rising).     Oh! 

MAM.     What's  the  matter? 

CAD.  (seated).     A  —  a  cwick  in  the  back. 

MAM.     Here  — take  a  bracer.     (Pours  liquor  from  flask?) 

CAD.     What  is  it  ? 

MAM.     Hardware  —  dynamite  —  earthquake  —  whiskey. 

CAD.     Is  it  stwong  ? 

MAM.     You  tell. 

CAD.     It's  got  a  bad  look  (smells),  and  it  smells  awfully  dead. 

MAM.  Never  mind  ;  shut  your  eyes  and  let  her  go.  Now  —  all 
ready  —  one  —  two  — 

CAD.  Say,  if  anything  happens,  send  me  home  on  ice.  (Drinks.) 
Ah,  I  don't  wondah  they  kill  people  out  in  this  country.  (Attempts 
to  rise.)  Oh,  my  !  Blawst  it ! 

MAM.     Let  me  help  you. 

CAD.     Thanks  awfully.     (She  helps  him  to  his  feet.) 

MAM.     Steady  now.     Brace  up.     Lean  on  me. 

CAD.  Thanks  aw  —  oh  !  awfully.  If  you'd  only  let  me  lean  on 
you  through  life. 

MAM.  (aside).     Oh,  my  lord  !     Whew ! 

CAD.     I  mean  it  —  'pon  honah,  I  do. 


34  RIO    GRANDE. 

MAM.     Stuff!     You  don't  care  a  row  of  pins  for  me. 

CAD.  Aw  —  but  I  do.  I  love  you  evah  and  evah  and  evah  so 
much.  If  you'll  only  agwee,  I'll  do  anything  you  say. 

MAM.     Ah  !     Will  you  talk  United  States  ? 

CAD.    Ya-as. 

MAM.    Then  say  "yes." 

CAD.    Yes. 

MAM.    Will  you  dress  like  an  American  ? 

CAD.    Ya  —  yes. 

MAM.  Will  you  throw  away  your  fool  walking-stick,  single- 
barrel  eyeglass,  and  cigarettes  ? 

CAD.    Aw  —  well  —  I  — 

MAM.    Well,  what  ? 

CAD.    Well,  ya  —  yes. 

MAM.     And  you'll  try  to  think  now  and  then  ? 

CAD.  It's  no  use.  I  see  you  won't  have  me.  I  cawri't  think. 
I  wasn't  built  that  way. 

MAM.     No  matter.     I'll  think  for  you. 

CAD.     Thanks  !     Thanks  awfully.     Then  you'll  have  me  ? 

MAM.    Ya-as ! 

CAD.  Eureka  !  I  don't  know  who  he  was,  but  (embracing  her) 
it's  something  awfully  jolly. 

{Enter  BIGGS,  c.  D.    Like  CADWALLADKR,  he  is  much  the  worse 
for  wear.) 

BIGGS.     So  —  you've  got  back,  have  you  ? 

CAD.     No,  I  haven't ;  have  you  ? 

BIGGS.     Don't  you  be  impudent,  sir  ! 

MAM.     (to  CAD.).     Go  it!     I'll  back  you! 

CAD.  Thanks  —  aw — give  me  some  more  of  that  earthquake. 
(Drinks.) 

BIGGS.  What  did  you  run  off  and  leave  me  for,  you  cowardly 
snob  ? 

CAD.     You  —  ah  —     (Drinks.) 

MAM.  (nudging htm).     That's  right.     Sail  in! 

CAD.  And  what  did  you  wun  —  run  —  off  and  leave  me  for,  you 
antiquated  old  —  old  —  devil  ? 

MAM.  Oh,  glory  !  He's  learning  to  swear  !  —  Go  it  now  ! 
Go  it! 

BIGGS.     Antiquated,  sir  !     Antiquated!     I'll  —  I'll  —  burr! 

CAD.  So'll  1  burr-r-r !  (Excited  business.  CADWALLADER 
drinks.) 

(Enter  MRS.  BIGGS,  c.  D.) 

MRS.  B.  (embracing  BIGGS).  O  Mr.  Biggs!  O  Jeremiah! 
And  you  are  really,  really,  truly,  really  not  dead  ? 

BIGGS.  No  ;  but  there  will  be  a  really,  truly  dead  dude  here 
(CAD.  drinks)  in  just  about  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  time,  if  you 
will  only  get  out  of  the  way  ! 


RIO    GRANDE.  35 

MRS.  B.  {clinging  to  him).     No,  no,  Jeremiah. 

CAD.  That's  wight.  Cling  to  Jewemiah,  unless  you  want  me  to 
spattah  him  all  ovah  this  woom. 

BIGGS,  (struggling).  Let  me  get  at  him  for  a  moment  —  a 
single  moment ! 

CAD.  {to  MAMIE).     D-d-do  you  suppose  she  will  ? 

MAM.     Never.     You're  safe.     Roast  him ! 

CAD.  Why  don't  you  come  on  —  you  old  Egyptian  obelisk  ? 
(Drinks.}  You  ossified  mummy  !  Come  on  —  ic  —  you  cowardly 
old  conundrum  ! 

BIGGS.     Mrs.  Biggs,  I  command  you! 

MRS.  B.  (standing  aside).  Well,  then,  if  you're  bound  to 
fight  - 

MAM.  All  ready  for  the  first  round  !  (Pushes  CADWALLADER 
toward  BIGGS,  "who  retreats.} 

BIGGS.  I  —  ahem  !  On  due  consideration,  and  mature  reflec 
tion,  the  immediate  presence  of  the  gentler  sex  induces  me  to  allow 
you  to  remain  in  statu  quo  for  the  present  time  being.  But  beware, 
sir!  beware  of  the  aftermath.  You  have  aroused  the  sleeping  lion, 
and  his  roar  will  reverberate  to  the  uttermost  heights  of  the  tower 
ing  Magdalena  Mountains. 

CAD.  (half  aside).  Ya-as.  You  can  hear  a  jackass  a  long  way 
— ic — way. 

BIGGS.  I  scorn  to  bandy  words  with  you,  sir.  Come,  Mrs. 
Biggs.  Let  us  hence  to  our  own  domicile.  In  due  time,  sir, 
you  may  expect  to  find  your  disjecta  membra  scattered  all  over 
New  Mexico,  and  to  be  fined  fifty  thousand  dollars  for  contempt 
of  court.  (At  C.  D.)  In  the  language  of  the  poet —  (Mits.  BIGGS 
pulls  his  arm)  damn  it,  let  me  alone !  (Exit  with  MRS.  BIGGS 

C.  D.) 

CAD.  (xhghtly  tipsy).  Well  ?  How'm  I  doing  ?  Firs'  —  ic  — 
rate? 

MAM.     You're  a  holy  terror ! 

CAD.  Bet — yer — life.  Dander's  up.  No  more  dud  P  me  ;  ic  — 
bad  man ! 

MAM.     Correct.     Now  go  to  your  room  and  sober  up. 

CAD.  All  ri',  all  r:'.  Didn'  I  do 'im  ?  Bad  —  ic  —  bad  man  ! 
Blood  'n  m'  eye  !  Wah  !  Oop !  (Exit,  R.  u.  E.) 

MAM.  It's  a  modern  miracle.  A  dude  turned  into  a  man.  I 
believe  that  he  will  be  really  plucky  when  he  gets  his  blood  up. 

(Enter  JOHNNIE,  quickly,  c.  D.) 

JOHN.  Blood!  Who  wants  blood?  Trot  him  out  !  I'm  right 
in  the  business,  I  am.  Yah!  I'm  the  wild-eyed  avenger!  the 
unterrified  scourge  of  the  plains  !  You  hear  me  scream  ? 

MAM.     Jonathan  Bangs ! 

JOHN.  Correct.  That's  me  —  right  side  up  with  care,  and 
hungry  as  a  tramp.  Oh,  I  tell  you  that  was  a  gorgeous  battle. 
Ping  !  Bang  !  Puff!  And  over  they  went ! 


36  RIO    GRANDE. 

MAM.     Put  up  that  horrid  gun.     It  might  go  off. 

JOHN.     It  has,  no  end  of  times,  and  it  did  fearful  execution. 

(Enter  SEGUKA,  c.  D.) 

MAM.     Yes  —  shot  some  more  cows  perhaps. 

SEG.  Only  a  mule  or  two,  Miss  Bangs.  The  colonel  stopped 
him  before  he  did  any  serious  damage. 

MAM.  (laughing).     O  Johnnie ! 

JOHN.     Well,  I  shot  at  one  Injun  anyhow. 

SEG.  So  I  observed.  But,  as  he  was  a  mile  away,  he  was  not 
badly  injured. 

MAM.     Then  there  was  no  battle  ? 

SEG.     Only  a  trifling  skirmish. 

JOHN.  That  was  all.  We  did  'em  just  too  easy  —  we  did ! 
(Exit,  R.  u.  E.) 

MAM.  No  battle  !  The  idea  !  So  we  had  our  long  fright  all 
for  nothing.  Where  are  the  soldiers  ? 

SEG.     They  will  soon  be  here. 

MAM.  I'll  tell  Sophia ;  but  I  think  it's  a  real  awful  shame 
that  you  didn't  get  killed  —  at  least  a  little  bit  —  so  now  !  (Ex-it, 
L.  u.  E.) 

SEG.  The  devil  you  do!  She  is  a  pleasant  creature  —  if 
anything  a  little  too  pleasant.  Um  !  I  expect  a  breeze  when 
Wybert  returns.  Curse  the  young  cub !  I  hope  he  won't  oblige 
me  to  kill  him  —  at  least  at  present. 

(Enter  SOPHIA  and  RETTA,  L.  u.  E.) 

RET.  (down  c.).     Uncle ! 

SEG.     Good-morning,  my  dear.     I  hope  you  have  slept  well. 

RET.     Do  you,  indeed? 

SEG.  And  why  not  ?  You  surely  had  nothing  to  fear  for  me, 
and  (meaningly)  you  certainly  cared  nothing  for  the  fate  of  any 
one  else. 

RET.     But  I  — 

SEG.  Yes,  I  see  ;  you  have  been  assuming  pity  for  her ;  that 
is  right.  You  are  doing  nobly.  (RETTA  goes  R.  SOPHIA  comes 
down.)  Miss  Sophia  —  your  devoted. 

SOPH.     My  father  — 

SEG.     Will  soon  be  here. 

RET.     And  is  —  is  — 

SEG.     Is  he  wounded  ?     Not  in  the  least. 

RET.     And  is  — 

SEG.  Is  there  any  limit  to  your  questions  ?  I  dare  say  not. 
(Aside  to  RETTA.)  Hold  your  tongue.  He  is  safe  enough,  curse 
him  !  1  will  not  have  you  awaken  her  interest  by  any  of  your 
stupid  questions.  (SOPHIA  draws  curtains,  admitting  early  sun 
light  ;  puts  out  lamp  ;  lights  all  up.) 

RET.     But  she  must  be  anxious. 

SEG.     She  better  not. 


RIO    GRANDE.  37 

RET.     And  why  ? 

SEG.     Because  she  is  my  promised  wife  — 

RET.     Your  promised  wife  ? 

SEG.     And  shall  harbor  no  thoughts  of  him. 

RET.     Your  —  promised  —  wife  ! 

SEG.  Yes.  and  yes  again  ;  and  still  yes  and  yes.  My  plan  is 
working  grandly.  When  Wybert  arrives,  you  must  welcome  him 
with  the  utmost  affection.  Be  as  loving  as  you  please.  He  will 
not  repulse  you,  and  she  will  not  interfere. 

RET.     What  have  you  done  with  that  forged  paper  ? 

SEG.     Forged  paper  ? 

RET.     Yes  ;  the  —  the  one  I  signed. 

SEG.     Ah  !  you  mean  your  marriage  certificate. 

RET.     Yes  —  that  shameful  — 

SEG.  Of  course  ;  he  is  a  shameful  fellow.  But  I  shall  expose 
him. 

RET.  Expose  him  ?  Uncle,  let  us  have  an  understanding. 
You  are  — 

SEG.  Exactly.  I  am  —  managing  this  affair  (grasping  her 
arm),  and  be  careful  that  you  make  no  mistake  in  your  work  ;  for 
if  you  do  (meaningly)^  it  will  be  a  very  expensive  mistake  for  you, 
my  dear. 

RET.  (aside).  Demon  that  he  is !  What  new  villany  is  he 
planning  ?  (Goes  up  R.  and  exits,  R.  u.  E.) 

SEG.  (L.).  Daylight  at  last!  Ah,  my  dear  Sophia,  how  pleas 
ant  the  sunshine  is  after  a  long  and  dreary  night.  And  yet,  to  me, 
the  past  night  has  been  a  joyous,  happy  dream. 

SOPH.     To  me  it  has  been  a  terrible  reality. 

SEG.  The  anxiety  you  felt  —  regarding  your  father  —  was  natu 
ral,  of  course. 

SOPH.     If  that  were  all  — 

SEG.  Then  I,  too,  have  had  a  place  in  your  thoughts?  I  thank 
you  truly,  for  you  have  lifted  an  oppressive  doubt  from  my  mind. 

SOPH.    A  doubt  ? 

SEG.  Yes  ;  for  I  had  thought  —  you  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure 
—  that  you  had,  possibly,  accepted  me  in  a  moment  of  pique  ;  and 
that  —  pardon  me  again  —  you  might  be  weak  enough  to  hold  a 
lingering  regard  for  the  —  ah  —  person  —  who  had  so  brutally  trifled 
with  your  affections. 

SOPH.     Seiior! 

SEG.  I  see  that  I  was  wrong.  Forgive  me.  I  should  have 
known  that  such  a  thought  was  unjust  to  a  girl  like  you.  My  poor 
niece  would  grovel  at  his  feet ;  but  you  —  ah,  your  splendid 
American  spirit  will  not  submit  to  insult.  You  cannot  forget  that 
he  has  made  your  heart  his  plaything  ;  that  the  honeyed  words 
whispered  in  your  ear  were  but  the  echo  of  words  spoken  to  others  i 
that  his  self-conceit  rejoiced  at  the  thought  of  adding  you  to  the 
number  of  his  abject  worshippers  ;  and  that  — 

SOPH.     No  more  —  no  more  ;  I  cannot  bear  it. 


38  RIO    GRANDE. 

SEG.     Then  you  do  not  regret  your  promise  to  me  ? 

SOPH.  I  regret  nothing,  except  that  I  ever  saw  him.  (Music  : 
lively  march,  off  L.  U.  E.  Low  at  first,  then  louder.  SOPHIA 
crosses  L.) 

SEG.  (aside).  Jealousy  raises  the  devil,  especially  with  women. 
(Aloud.)  The  regiment  has  returned.  And  now,  my  dear  Sophia, 
may  I  tell  your  father  of  my  happiness,  and  ask  his  consent  to  our 
marriage  ? 

SOPH,  (quickly).     No  —  please  —  not  yet.     Give  me  a  little  time 

SEG.  But  think  how  anxious  I  am ;  and  besides,  he  ought  to 
know. 

SOPH.     Yes  —  he  shall  —  but  give  me  a  little  time,  for  I  —  I  — 

(Enter  RETTA,  c.  D.from  R.) 

RET.  O  Sophia !  Here  comes  your  father !  (SOPHIA  starts 
up.)  And  Paul  too  ! 

SOPH.     Oh  !     (Comes  down  and  sits  L.) 

SEG.  (aside).  There  !  one  of  them  waiting  to  fly  to  him,  and  the 
other  waiting  to  fly  at  him.  O  woman,  woman,  woman  !  What 
a  precious  fool  you  are  !  (Exit,  R.  u.  E.) 

{Enter  LAWTON  and  PAUL,  c.  D.) 

LAW.     Sophia,  my  child ! 

SOPH,  (embracing  him).     Father! 

LAW.     Bless  my  soul  !     What  is  the  matter? 

SOPH.     Nothing,  only —  I  —  I  am  so  glad  you  have  returned. 

LAW.  Yes,  safe  and  sound  But  there !  Paul  is  waiting. 
(Goes  L.) 

SOPH,  (glancing  at  RETTA).     And  so  is  some  one  else. 

PAUL.  Indeed  ?  {Looks  at  RETTA,  who  is  timidly  regarding 
him.  Then,  indignant  at  SOPHIA,  comes  down  and  takes  RETTA'S 
hand.)  You,  at  least,  will  welcome  me  back.  You  are  glad  to  see 
me,  are  you  not  ? 

RET.     Yes,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.     (They go  R.) 

LAW.  (looking  around).  Hello !  Well,  of  all  things  !  What 
does  that  mean  ? 

SOPH.     Let  him  answer.     (Crosses  L  ) 

LAW.  (c.).  Why  — I  — look  here  — the  Devil!  (Aside.)  No, 
sir!  The  poet  is  all  wrong.  (At  C.  D.)  The  "  proper  study  of 
mankind  "  is  —  woman.  And  the  more  you  learn  of  her,  the  less 
you  really  know.  {Exit,  c.  D.) 

PAUL.  So,  you  see,  the  outbreak  really  amounted  to  nothing. 
But  there,  I  must  leave  you  now. 

RET.     Wait ;  I  have  not  told  you. 

PAUL.  Never  mind,  Retta.  You  are  a  good,  warm-hearted 
girl,  for  {significantly)  you  did  not  become  an  icicle  on  my  return. 

SOPH,  (aside).     That  is  for  my  benefit. 


RIO    GRANDE.  39 

PAUL.  There  is  no  frost  in  your  nature.  You  could  never 
freeze  a  man's  heart  as  some  of  your  northern  sisters  delight  in 
doing. 

SOPH,  {indignantly).  No  ;  but  she  can  burn  her  poor  heart 
out  for  a  wretch  who  is  unworthy  of  her  slightest  thought. 

PAUL.  And  that  same  fire  may  warm  a  frozen  heart  into  life, 
and  thus  disappoint  somebody. 

SOPH.  And  if  somebody's  sword  was  as  sharp  as  his  tongue, 
what  a  soldier  he  would  make  ! 

PAUL  (at  c.  D.).  An  excellent  suggestion.  That  sword  will 
receive  immediate  attention.  (Exit,  c.  D.) 

SOPH,  (aside).  I  could  fairly  cry  my  eyes  out  if  she  were  not 
here. 

RET.     Sophia  — 

SOPH.     Yes,  dear. 

RET.     I  am  going  away. 

SOPH.     Why  should  you  ? 

RET.  You  will  not  wonder  when  I  tell  you.  Since  I  came  here 
I  have  brought  only  sorrow  to  you,  to  him,  to  myself.  But  before 
I  go  I  must  tell  you  of  the  dreadful  wrong  I  have  done  you  both. 

SOPH.     Retta ! 

RET.  Don't  touch  me ;  don't  come  near  me.  Only  listen. 
Yesterday  my  heart  was  filled  with  bitterness  toward  you.  I  was 
consumed  with  jealous  rage,  mad  with  envious  spite.  I  hated  him  : 
I  hated  you  both.  In  my  eagerness  for  vengeance  I  thus  endeav 
ored  to  separate  you  by  every  art  known  to  a  desperate,  wicked 
woman.  That  scene  which  you  witnessed  between  us  was  innocent 
of  all  wrong  on  his  part.  Trapped  into  a  promise  he  gave  the 
kiss  you  saw — as  I  well  knew  —  and  could  explain  nothing  without 
breaking  his  word.  You  have  all  been  so  good,  so  kind,  to  me, 
and  I  — oh,  what  a  miserable  wretch  I  am  !  (Sinks  into  chair  R., 
sobbing.*) 

SOPH,  (kneeling  beside  her).  Poor,  wayward  child  !  What  has 
my  suffering  been  compared  to  yours  ? 

RET.  But  mine  are  all  deserved.  O  Sophia!  can  you  ever 
forgive  me  ? 

SOPH,  (kissing  her).     With  all  my  heart. 

RET.  And  Paul  —  Capt.  Wybert';  tell  him  all  that  I  have  said. 
Be  happy  —  happy  —  and  forget  me. 

SOPH.     Forget  you  ? 

RET.  (returning  and  embracing  her).  No,  I  don't  mean  that. 
Forget  the  wrong  I  did,  and  remember  me  with  all  the  pity,  sor 
row,  and  kindness  possible.  Good-by.  Good-by.  (Exit,  R.  u.  E.) 

SOPH,  (up  c.).  Poor  Retta!  poor  child.  If  there  were  only 
two  Pauls  how  nice  it  would  be  !  (Looks  off  C.  D.)  There  he 
goes!  Now  I  -will  surprise  him.  (/'.v/A  c.  D.  to  L.) 

(Enter  SEGURA  and  LAWTON,  R.  u.  E.) 

LAW.  Well,  senor,  I  believe  that  the  trouble  is  all  over,  at  least 
for  the  present. 


4O  RIO    GRANDE. 

SEG.  With  the  Indians  —  yes;  but  there  seems  to  be  a  small 
domestic  warfare  raging  here  in  the  garrison. 

LAW.     Yes.     Women  beat  the  Devil. 

SEG.  And  there  is  where  men  have  the  best  of  it ;  for  they 
sometimes  beat  women. 

LAW.     I  don't  see  what  can  possess  my  daughter. 

SEG.     I  know  of  some  one  who  hopes  to. 

LAW.    Yes  ? 

SEG.     Yes.     And  your  consent,  I  trust,  will  not  be  withheld. 

LAW.  My  consent  is  evidently  of  small  consequence.  Parents 
are  ciphers  nowadays.  I  control  my  regiment  easily,  but  my 
daughter  — 

SEG.     Easily  controls  you. 

LAW.  Well,  1  don't  deny  it.  She  is  all  I  have  on  earth,  and, 
bless  her  heart,  never  abuses  her  power. 

SEG.     Then  she  will  make  an  admirable  wife. 

LAW.  No  doubt ;  for  she  and  Paul  are  doing  all  their  quarrel 
ling  before  marriage. 

SEG.     Their  marriage  !     Whose  marriage  ? 

LAW.     Sophia  and  Capt.  Wybert's.     I  supposed  you  knew. 

SEG.     I  know  that  she  will  not  marry  Capt.  Wybert. 

LAW.     Really  ? 

SEG.     Really. 

LAW.     You  surprise  me. 

SEG.     Doubtless  ;  but  I  have  my  reasons. 

LAW.     Suppose  you  name  them. 

SEG.  With  pleasure.  First,  then,  your  daughter  is  engaged  to 
me. 

LAW.     What.' 

SEG.  And  why  not  ?  I  am  well  born,  rich,  fairly  intelligent, 
not  exactly  hideous  —  unless  my  mirror  lies  —  and,  I  am  pleased  to 
say,  my  heart,  hand,  and  fortune  have  been  accepted  by  your 
daughter. 

LAW.  My  dear  fellow,  you  certainly  are  dreaming.  My 
daughter  — 

SEG.     Is  a  high-spirited  girl,  quick  to  resent  an  insult. 

LAW.     Insult  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? 

SEG.  What  I  say.  My  proposal  was  opportune.  When  she 
found  that  she  had  been  duped,  played  upon,  trifled  with,  by  the 
man  who  professed  to  love  her,  she  bravely  cast  his  contemptible 
image  from  her  heart,  and  accepted  the  love  of  an  honest  man. 
That  man  is  myself! 

LAW.  Duped  ?  My  daughter  ?  Why,  man,  you  must  be  crazy. 
Such  talk  is  absolute  nonsense.  My  daughter,  I  tell  you,  is 
engaged  to  Capt.  Wybert. 

SEG.  She  was,  I  admit,  until  she  discovered  his  real  charac 
ter. 

LAW.  I  will  hear  no  more.  Capt,  Wybert  is  a  gentleman,  and 
will  marry  my  daughter. 


RIO    GRANDE.  41 

SEG.  Capt.  Wybert  is  a  double-dyed  scoundrel,  and  will  not 
marry  your  daughter  ! 

LAW.     Look  here,  sir,  I  have  a  mind  to  — 

SEG.     You  want  my  reason  ? 

LAW.  (restraining  himself ).     Yes;  be  brief. 

SEG.  Briefly,  then,  Capt.  Wybert  will  not  marry  her  because  he 
has  a  wife  already  ! 

LAW.  (passionately).  Senor  Segura  !    That  is  a  lie  !   (Crosses  L.) 

SEG.  (half  drawing  sword).  Eh!  (With  an  effort.)  You  — 
want  —  proof? 

LAW.     Yes  —  and  be  quick  about  it. 

SEG.  Very  well.  Capt.  Wybert  was  married  in  Mexico.  His 
wedding  was  kept  a  profound  secret.  I  heard  of  it  yesterday  for 
the  first  time. 

LAW.     And  his  wife  — 

SEG.     Is  my  poor,  wronged,  unhappy  niece. 

LAW.     Retta  ? 

SEG.  Yes,  Retta.  If  you  want  more  proof,  here  is  her  marriage 
certificate.  Look  at  it ;  study  it ;  and  then  tell  me  if  I  lie. 

LAW.  (examining  certificate).  Paul  Wybert,  Capt.  U.  S.  Cav- 
aly,  —  Retta —  You  told  the  truth,  senor.  I  beg  your  pardon. 

PAUL  (outside,  L.).     Come  dear,  it's  all  right  now. 

LAW.     The  infamous  scoundrel !     I'll  blow  his  brains  out ! 

SEG.     Don't ;    he  would  never  miss  them. 

LAW.     But  damn  the  fellow  — 

SEG.  That  is  right.  Damn  him  all  you  please  ;  only,  make 
an  example  of  him.  I  will  tell  you  my  plan.  (Draws  LAWTON 
towards  R_  u.  E.)  It  will  take  but  a  moment.  (Exit  LAWTON, 
R.  u.  E.)  Now,  you  fools,  make  the  most  of  your  time  !  (Exit, 
R.  u.  E.) 

(Enter  PAUL  and  SOPHIA,  c.  D.) 

SOPH,  (shaking  finger  playfully).  Own  up,  now.  Aren't  you 
ashajned  of  yourself  ? 

PAUL.     Ashamed?     The  —  mischief !     What  for? 

SOPH.     Oh  — everything  ;  making  me  jealous,  and  all  that. 

PAUL  (aside).     That's  the  woman  of  it. 

SOPH.  And  only  think,  Paul,  1  had  really  promised  to  marry 
that  man. 

PAUL.     A  promise,  so  gained,  binds  nothing. 

SOPH.     What  will  he  say  ? 

PAUL.     Whatever  he  pleases. 

SOPH.     What  will  he  do  ? 

PAUL.     Travel.     His  health  requires  a  change. 

SOPH.     You  will  not  quarrel  with  him  ?     Promise  me. 

PAUL.  Well  —  no.  I  won't  quarrel  with  him;  but  if  he 
quarrels  with  me  — 

SOPH.     O  Paul ! 

PAUL.     Somebody  will  have  an  impressive  funeral. 


42  RIO    GRANDE. 

(Enter  MAMIE  and  CADWALLADER,  c.  D.) 

MAM.     Another  funeral  ?     That  makes  two. 

SOPH.     Two  ? 

MAM.     That's  what  I  said. 

SOPH.     Who  was  the  other  ? 

MAM.     A  dude.     Caddie  killed  him.     Didn't  you,  eh  ? 

CAD.     Ya-as. 

MAM.    Eh  ? 

CAD.     I  mean  "yes." 

PAUL  (c.).     You  look  as  if  you  had  met  with  an  accident. 

CAD.  (L.).  Ya  —  yes.  I  have.  I'm  engaged  to  be  maw  — 
married. 

SOPH.  (R.).    To  you? 

MAM.  (R.).     Cert. 

SOPH.     I  congratulate  you.     But  isn't  he  a — a  — 

MAM.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He's  buried  the  dude,  I  tell  you  — 
sworn  off  on  cigarettes,  and  is  learning  the  American  language. 

SOPH.     Wonderful !     How  did  it  happen  ? 

MAM.  Why,  you  see,  he  wants  a  protector,  and  I  have  taken 
the  contract. 

CAD.  (to  PAUL).  I  suppose  that  blaw  —  blasted  Spaniard  will 
cut  up  wus  —  rusty  —  when  he  finds  that  you  have  cut  him  out. 

PAUL.     I  really  hope  he  will.     (Going  c.) 

(Enter  LAWTON  and  SEGURA,  R.  u.  E.) 

LAW.    Capt.  Wybert ! 

PAUL.    Sir  ? 

LAW.  You  will  resign  your  commission  and  leave  the  fort 
within  an  hour ! 

PAUL.     Col.  Lawton! 

LAW.  (c).  No  words !  When  a  man  disgraces  his  uniform,  he 
must  lay  it  aside  forever.  You,  whom  I  had  looked  upon  as  a  son 
—  who  was  betrothed  to  my  daughter  —  whose  honor  1  had 
thought  above  question  —  you  of  all  men  to  be  guilty  of  such  con 
temptible  conduct  I  believe  I  would  do  right  to  kill  you  in  your 
tracks  ! 

PAUL.     Contemptible  conduct,  sir  ?    What  do  you  mean  ? 

SEG.  (R).  He  means  that  you  have  dared  make  love  to  his 
daughter,  while  your  own  wife  was  under  his  roof.  (Sensa 
tion.) 

SOPH.     His  wife  ! 

PAUL.     You  miserable,  devilish  liar  !    (Starts  toward  SEGURA.) 

LAW.     Halt !     (PAUL  stops.) 

PAUL.     But,  colonel !     Such  a  lie— 

LAW.  Silence  !  He  has  spoken  the  truth  ;  for  here  I  hold  the 
certificate  of  marriage  between  his  niece  and  yourself,  duly  signed 
and  witnessed.  The  signature  is  your  own — 


RIO    GRANDE.  43 

(Enter  RETTA,  L.  u.  E.) 

SEG.     And  here  comes  the  poor  girl,  who  will  prove  it. 

PAUL.     Retta,  will  you  — 

LAW.  Silence,  sir  !  Retta,  my  child,  come  here.  Look  at  this 
paper.  (She  fakes  it.)  Do  you  know  what  it  is? 

RET.     \es.     (Slowly.)     It  is  a  marriage  certificate. 

SEG.     Exactly. 

LAW.     Have  you  seen  it  before  ? 

RET.    Yes. 

SEG.     To  be  sure. 

LAW.     Is  that  your  own  signature? 

RET.    Yes. 

SEG.     Without  doubt.     See,  I  told  you. 

LAW.  And  then  this  is  a  genuine  certificate  of  your  marriage  to 
Paul  Wybert  ? 

RET.  (tears  paper).  No !  For  we  were  never  married  I 
(General  movement.  SOPHIA  embraces  RETTA  ;  CADWALLADER 
embraces  MAMIE  ;  SEGURA  takes  stage  to  R.  front.  PAUL  takes 
position  near  c.  D.) 

LAW.     But  that  certificate  — 

RET.  Is  a  cowardly,  miserable  forgery  to  which  in  a  moment 
of  foolish  passion  I  wickedly  lent  my  name. 

SEG.     Don't  believe  her,  Col.  Lawton.     The  fool  lies. 

LAW.     Excuse  me,  but  I  prefer  to  look  elsewhere  for  the  liar. 

SEG.  (aside).     Ah,  curse  them  all ! 

LAW.     I  ask  your  pardon,  my  boy, 

PAUL  (giving  hancf).     Granted  sir,  freely. 

MAM.  The  show  is  over.  Come  on,  Caddy.  Ting-a-ling-a- 
ling!  Down  goes  the  curtain. 

CAD.     Ya  —  yes  ;  just  like  a  play,  isn't  it  ?     (They  exit,  C.  D.) 

SEG.     You  astonish  me,  Col.  Lawton. 

LAW.  Possibly.  And  I  shall  astonish  you  in  a  different  way 
unless  you  leave  at  once.  This  is  no  place  for  sneaks  nor  forgers. 
(Exit,  c.  D.  ;  SEGURA  turns  and  looks  at  RETTA.) 

RET.  (  shrinking  and  grasping  SOPHIA'S  arm).     Oh  ! 

SOPH.     What  is  it,  dear  ?     Come  with  me. 

SEG.     Stop! 

SOPH.     Sir ! 

SEG.  I  am  addressing  my  niece.  You  will  come  with  me,  if  you 
please.  (With  meaning.')  I  have  an  interesting  account  to  settle 
with  you. 

RET.  (terrified).     I  dare  not  go. 

SEG.     Come  ! 

RET.     He  will  murder  me. 

PAUL  (down  c).     No,  he  will  not.     You  shall  remain  here. 

SEG.     Dare  you  interfere  with  me  ? 

PAUL.     At  any  time,  sir  ! 


44  RIO    GRANDE. 

(Enter  BIGGS  and  JOHNNIE,  c.  D.) 

BIGGS.  Here  —  stop  this  quarrel.  I'll  fine  you  a  thousand 
dollars. 

SEG.     Go  to  the  devil,  you  old  fool  ! 

BIGGS.     Wh-at !     I'll  fine  you  a  million — 

JOHN.     Oh,  dry  up !     (Pushes  him  to  R.  u.  E.) 

SEG.  (to  RETTA).     Come,  I  tell  you. 

PAUL  (stopping  her).  Remain  here.  And,  as  for  you  (to 
SEGURA).  if  you  leave  at  once  you  will  avoid  the  unpleasant  sensa 
tion  of  being  kicked  out.  (Turns  away  contemptuously.') 

SEG.  Ah  !  (Draws  knife,  rushes  at  PAUL,  and  strikes.  At 
the  same  instant  RETTA  throws  herself  between  them  and  receives 
the  blow.) 

PAUL.  Scoundrel  !  (Catches  RETTA  in  left  arm  and  knocks 
SEGURA  down  with  right  fist.  BIGGS  and  JOHNNIE  bind  and 
secure  him.) 

JOHN,  (drawing  pistol).  If  you  breathe,  you're  dead!  (PAUL 
places  RETTA  in  chair,  L.  C.) 

RET.     Paul  —  are  —  are  you  safe  ? 

PAUL.     I  am  safe,  Retta. 

RET.  Thank  —  God.  Good-by,  Paul.  It  is  for  the  best  — all 
for  the  best.  I  cannot  see  you,  Paul  —  nor  her:  It  is  all  so  —  so 
dark.  Good-by  —  Paul.  (Dies  ;  picture;  music.) 


SLOW  CURTAIN. 


THE  MAN  WHO  WENT 

(Originally  produced  under  the  title  "The  Black  Feather,'"*, 
A  Play  in  Four  Acts 
By  IV.  A.  Tremayne 

Seven  males,  three  females.  Scenery,  one  interior  and  one  exterior, 
Costumes,  modern.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Royalty,  $10.00  for  the  first 
and  $5.00  each  for  other  immediately  succeeding  performances.  An  ex 
ceptionally  stirring  and  effective  play  of  the  Great  War,  produced  with 
great  success  in  Canada  as  the  successor  of  the  popular  "  The  Man  Who 
Stayed  at  Home."  Jack  Thornton,  a  King's  Messenger,  entrusted  with 
important  state  papers  for  delivery  in  Vienna,  is  robbed  of  them  through 
his  attachment  to  a  lady  in  the  Austrian  secret  service,  and  his  career 
jeopardized ;  but  by  the  cleverness  and  daring  of  Dick  Kent,  of  the  Eng 
lish  secret  service,  who  is  in  love  with  his  sister  Evelyn,  the  plot  is  frus 
trated  in  a  series  of  thrilling  scenes,  and  all  ends  well.  An  exceptionally 
well  built  drama,  full  of  sensations,  ending  in  a  strong  last  atf  full  of 
"  punch.''  A  good  play  for  any  purpose,  but  ideally  suited  to  thr  »emper 
of  the  present.  Plenty  of  comedy,  easy  to  stage,  and  confident!'  .ecom- 
mended.  Price,  35  cents 

CHARACTERS 

DiCK.  KENT,  in  the  English  Secret  Service. 
JACK  THORNTON,  a  King '  s  Messenger. 
BARON  VON  ARNHEIM,  in  the  German  Secret  Service 
SIR  GEORGE  CAXTON,  in  the  British  Foreign  Office. 
HOGUE,  a  German  spy. 
BARNES,  a  chauffeur. 
PATTON,  a  keeper. 
EVELYN  THORNTON,  Jack's  sister. 

COUNTESS  WANDA  VON  HOLTZBERG,  in  the  Austrian  Secrt   ^en-ice. 
LADY  VENRTTA  CAXTON,  Sir  George  s  wife. 

The  action  of  the  play  takes  place  in  the  early  summer  of  '014. 

SYNOPSIS 

ACT  I.  Jack  Thornton's  chambers  in  Portman  Square,  London, 
Dealing  the  cards.  "  Beware  of  the  dog." 

ACT  II.  A  retired  corner  of  Sir  George  Caxton's  estate  in  Kent. 
Dick  takes  the  first  trick.  "  The  son  of  his  father." 

ACT  III.  Jack  Thornton's  chambers.  A  bold  play.  "  Driv« 
like  the  devil,  Barnes — we've  got  to  make  Charing  Cross  by  nine." 

ACT  IV.  Jack  Thornton's  chambers.  Dick  wins  the  game 
"Tightening  the  bonds  of  Empire." 

OUTWITTED 

_   A  Comedy  Dramatic  Novelty 

By  Harry  L.  Newton 

One  male,  one  female.  Scene,  an  interior  ;  costumes,  modern.  Plays 
twenty  minutes.  Sherman,  a  United  States  Secret  Service  man,  encoun 
ters  Sophie,  supposed  to  represent  the  enemy,  and  a  duel  of  wits  ensues. 
Very  exciting  and  swift  in  movement,  with  an  unexpected  ending.  Good 
work  and  well  recommended.  Price,  25  cents 


TURNING  THE  TRICK 

A  Dramatic  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 

By  J.  C.  McMullen 

Six  males,  five  females.  Scene,  a  single  interior.  Plays  a  full  even 
ing.  When  Mary  Ann  Casey  takes  up  shimmy  dancing  *nd  wants  to  find 
her  affinity,  Patrick  simply  has  to  assert  himself.  Incidentally  he  is  in 
strumental  in  unearthing  a  gang  of  diamond  smugglers  who,  in  the  char 
acter  of  "  society  "  people,  are  a  part  of  Mrs.  Casey's  fashionable  set. 
Good  Irish  comedy  leads,  both  male  and  female,  French  comedy  part, 
"  Bolshevik  "  adventuress,  comedy  maid  and  janitor — all  parts  good. 
Price  t 35  cents 

CHARACTERS 

PATRICK  CASEY,  a  retired  contractor. 
MARY  ANNE,  his  wife. 
MICHAEL,  his  son. 
KATHLEEN  )  , .    ,       , . 
MAGGIE      }  hls  ******* 
GEORGE  DRAKE,  a  friend  of  the  family. 
EILEEN,  the  maid. 
"  HUMPY  "  STEELE,  the  janitor. 
TIM  DOUGHERTY,  of  the  U.  S.  Treasury  Department. 
MADAM  ANNA  BAIRSKI,  a  bolshevik. 
ARMAND  FRANCOIS  BONI  AIME  DE  LOVIER.  a  modistt. 

SYNOPSIS 

ACT  I. — 3  :  oo  p.  M.,  a  Monday  afternoon  in  June. 
ACT  II. — 4  :oo  P.  M.,  Tuesday  afternoon 
ACT  III. — Midnight,  Tuesday. 

THE  MODERN  DRAMA  SERIES 

THE  RED  LIGHT  OF  MARS 
or 

A  Day  in  the  Life  of  the  Devil 
A  Philosophical  Comedy  in  Three  Acts 

By  George  Branson- Howard 

Fifteen  males,  three  females.  Costumes,  modern  ;  scenery,  a  single 
interior.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Acting  rights  controlled  by  The  Johr 
W.  Rumsey  Co.,  New  York.  Price,  75  cents 

MOTHER  NATURE  — PROGRESS 

Two  Belgian  Plays 
By  Gustave  Vanzype 

MOTHER  NATURE.— A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts.     Five  males,  five 
females.  Modern  costumes  ;  same  scene  for  all  three  acts.  T*l«ys  two  hours. 
PROGRESS.— A    Play  in   Three  Acts.      Six   males,   laree   females. 
Costumes,  modern ;  scenery,  two  interiors.     Plays  two  h<r-«-.. 
Price,  75  cents 


JUST  PLAIN  MARY 

A  Comedy  in  Two  Acts 
By  Gladys  Ruth  Bridgham 

Seven  males,  thirteen  females.    Scenes,  an  easy  exterior  and  an  interior. 
Plays  two  hours.     What  seems  to  be  for  two  thrilling  acts  a  dark  plot 
against  Judkins  turns  out  to   mean  big  money  for  him  and  big  luck  tor 
"  Just  Plain  Mary."     Rustic  eccentric  character  in  great  abundance. 
l*rice,  35  cents 

CHARACTERS 

DANIEL  JUDKINS,  aged  70. 

EZEKIEL  JUDKINS,  aged  19     \    ,. 

HEZEKIAH  JUDKINS,  aged 8    }    ' 

REV.  JOHN  ANDREWS,  aged  jo. 

AUSTIN  GEORGE,  aged  jo. 

HIRAM  PAISLEY,  aged 45, 

JOEL  SANBORN,  aged  13. 

FRANCINE  DuMoNT,  aged  18. 

NAOMI  JUDKINS,  aged  21       ]     n     .  » 

MARTHA  JUDKINS,  aged  25     \  daughten. 

RUTH  JUDKINS,  aged  10         )   c<ult&nt> 

MIRANDA  HAWKINS,  aged  40.     . 

LAVINIA  HERSEV,  aged  20. 

ELECT  A  TARBOX,  aged  33. 

VIOLET  WEBSTER,  aged  ig. 

LEILA  HASTINGS,  aged 20. 

ETHEL  WYMAN,  aged  20. 

EVELYN,  aged  15. 

ALICE,  aged  13. 

IRENE,  aged  /jr. 

SYNOPSIS 

ACT  I. — Garden  of  Daniel  Judkins'  home — a  New  England  vil 
lage.  An  afternoon  in  September. 

ACT  II. — Living-room  in  the  Judkins'  home.  Ten  days  later , 
evening. 


CIN'M'BUNS 

A  Sketch  in  One  Act 
By  Frances  Homer  Schreiner 

Two  males,  two  females.  Scene,  an  interior.  Plays  twenty  minutes. 
Prue  meets  her  "  ideal  "  by  accident,  takes  him  for  the  new  organist 
and  feeds  him  with  buns,  but  her  romance  survives  this  mischance.  All 
straight  characters. 

Jfrice,  gj  cents 


THE  GUEST  RETAINER 

A  Farce  in  Three  Acts 
By  Carl  Webster  Pierce 

Five  males,  three  females.  Scene,  a  hotel  office.  Plays  two  hours.  A 
guest  retainer  is  an  imagined  employee  of  a  summer  hotel  whose  job  it  is 
to  keep  the  lady  guests  contented  and  happy.  It  ought  to  work  fine,  but 
in  this  case  it  had  some  very  funny  consequences.  An  aviator,  a  retired 
undertaker  and  some  other  eccentric  characters  afford  good  parts.  Its 
small  cast  and  easy  production  recommend  this  piece. 
Price,  33  cents 

CHARACTERS 

°fthe  Hotel 

IMA  BRAVER. 

CASSANDRA  McAaxY. 

OWEN  COFFIN. 

RICHARD  ARCHIBALD  SIMPSON. 

BIRDIE  LARK,  "  The  Eaglet." 

HOPPER. 

SYNOPSIS 

SCENE.     Lobby  of  the  Hotel  Jerskeet,  somewhere  in  New  Jersey, 
ACT  I.     Morning  of  July  15. 
ACT  II.     Two  weeks  later. 
ACT  III.     Morning  of  August  15. 

PLAYS  Two  HOURS 

O'KEEFE'S  CIRCUIT 

An  Entertainment  in  One  Scene 

By  Carolyn  Draper  Gilpatric 

Twelve  males,  eight  females  or  less.  Scene,  a  manager's  office.  Playf 
atl  libitum.  A  vaudeville  manager  receives  in  his  office  applicants  for 
engagements,  who  illustrate  their  talent  or  lack  of  it.  Colored  characters, 
male  and  female,  Indian,  Spanish,  "  Rube,"  old-fashioned  and  various 
eccentric. 

Price,  35  cents 

THE  OFFICE  FORCE 

MR.  O'KEEFE,  a  pompous,  showily-dressed  man. 

MAGGIE  HENNESSY,  the  stylish  stenographer. 

BILL,  the  office  boy. 

MOSE  and  CHARLEY  {colored}  song  and  danct. 

MINNEHAHA,  an  Indian  dancer. 

SPIRITUELLA,  a  fake  spiritualistic  medium. 

AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GIRL,  singing  old-fashioned  songs. 

DEACON  SMALL  and  his  wife  and  RUTH  SANDY-KNEE. 

A  READING  OR  MONOLOGUE. 

CARMENCITA,  who  sings  in  Spanish  costume. 

THE  HiPPiTY-Hop  TWINS,  man  and  girl  in  song  and  done*, 

THE  BLOW  BROTHERS,  a  colored  orchestra  (burlesque}. 


THE  PLAYS  OF  A.  W.  PINERO 
Price,  6O  cents  each 

The  Amazons* — Farce  in  Three  Acts.  7  males,  5  females.  Scenery, 
an  exterior  and  an  interior.  Time,  a  full  evening.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

The  Cabinet  Minister* — Farce  in  Four  Acts.  10  males,  9  females. 
Scenery,  three  interiors.  Plays  two  hours  and  a  half.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

The  Big  Drum* — Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  12  males,  5  females.  Sce 
nery,  three  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Acting  rights  reserved. 

Dandy  Dick* — Farce  in  Three  Acts.  7  males,  4  females.  Scenery, 
two  interiors.  Plays  two  hours  and  a  half.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

The  Gay  Lord  Quex* — Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  4  males,  10  females. 
Scenery,  two  interiors  and  an  exterior.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

His  House  in  Order* — Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  9  males,  4  females. 
Scenery,  three  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Acting  rights  reserved. 

The  Hobby  Horse* — Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  10  males,  5  females- 
Scenery,  two  interiors  and  an  exterior.  Royalty,  $10.00.  Plays  2^hrs- 

Iris. — Drama  in  Five  Acts.  7  males,  7  females.  Scenery,  three  inte 
riors.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

Lady  Bountiful* — Play  in  Four  Acts.  8  males,  7  females.  Scenery, 
four  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Royalty,  $  10.00  for  each  performance. 

Letty* — Drama  in  Four  Acts  and  an  Epilogue.  IO  males,  5  females. 
Scenery,  complicated.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

The  Magistrate* — Farce  in  Three  Acts.  I?  aiales,  4  females.  Scenery, 
all  interiors.  Plays  two  hours  and  a  half.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

Mid-Channel* — Play  in  Four  Acts.  6  males,  5  females.  Scenery, 
thrr-  interiors.  Plays  two  and  a  half  hours.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

The  Notorious  Mrs.  Ebbsmith. — Drama  in  Four  Acts.  8  males, 
5  females.  Scenery,  all  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

The  Profligate* — Play  in  Four  Acts.  7  males,  5  females.  Scenery, 
three  interiors.  Right  of  performance  reserved.  Plays  a  full  evening, 

The  Schoolmistress* — Farce  in  Three  Acts.  9  males,  7  females. 
Scenery,  three  interiors.  Royalty,  §10.00  for  each  performance. 

The  Second  Mrs*  Tanqueray.— Play  in  Four  Acts.    8  males,  5 

females.     Scenery,  three    interiors.     Acts  a  full  evening. 

Sw^t  Lavender* — Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  7  males,  4  females. 
Scene,  a  single  interior.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

The  Thunderbolt. — Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  10  males,  9  females. 
Scenery,  three  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Acting  rights  reserved. 

The  Times* — Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  6  males,  7  females.  Scene,  a 
single  interior.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

The  Weaker  Sex*— Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  8  males,  8  females. 
Scenery,  two  interiors.  Plays  a  full  evening.  Royalty,  $10.00. 

A  Wife  Without  a  Smile* — Comedy  in  Three  Acts.  5  males,  4  fe 
males.  Scene,  a  single  interior.  Royalty,  $10.00.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

Costumes  modern  in  all  cases, 

BAKER,  Hamilton  Place.  Boston.  Mass. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  4939 

15  maics,  4  icmai 


15  males,  4  icmaici.      i.iuu.cu  UWM 
The  Silver  Spoon.— Comedy  in  Four  Acts.  By  J.  S.  Jones.  10  m*k 

9  females.  A  revised  version  of  this  old  "  hit "  of  the  period  before  the  w« 
Twelfth  Night  OR,  WHAT  You  WILL.— Comedy  in  Fiv«  Acts.    I 

Wm.  Shakespeare.     10  males,  3  females.     A  new  acting  version  ol  tJ 

comedy,  based  on  the  prompt-book  of  Miss  Julia  Marlowe. 
Cbstumes  of  tht  ptfiod  in  a/I  cases.   Sf entry  vatally  ratter  elaborate. 
BAKER,  Hamilton  Place,  Boston,  Mass. 


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